


Divergence

by 13empress



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Epic Battles, Epic Bromance, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting your alternate universe counterparts and having stuff to say, Plot, Slow Build, Space Battles, T'hy'la, Time Travel, Universe ending paradoxes did not ensue, Young James T. Kirk, Young Love, Young Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 171,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13empress/pseuds/13empress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Originally posted on LJ)<br/>A single Romulan from Nero's crew survives, who is pulled through the forming singularity to approximately 13 years into the past. Aware that he could lose everything if he were to wait for his revenge, Nero decides to even the odds by kidnapping a young Spock and Kirk and deliberately sets about to change the time line. Meanwhile, scientists monitoring the anomaly that the artificial singularity left behind receive confirmation that a member of Nero's crew is alive and in the past. Uncertain of the impact upon their own time line or indeed upon the Federation of the (new) alternate time line, Starfleet Command issues orders for the Enterprise crew who are in their second year of serving together to investigate the matter by going through the anomaly. Pre-slash K/S, slash ending. Implied slash for young K/S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic begun in 2009 on the kink meme then continued on my LJ and was finally completed Feb 2015. It's being posted up here for easy access. I'm receiving assistance from a friend in slowly but surely transferring all chapters here.

_First Officer's Log, Stardate 2260.54.01_

_The Enterprise has safely arrived at Babel. All thirteen member world delegates will shortly disembark. While the Federation Special Parliament is in session, our standing orders are to maintain our presence here along with the Eighth Fleet and USS Constellation. We have enacted a standard yellow alert as instructed and will hold orbit for the day._

_I have been invited to along with the captain to attend proceedings. We will depart with the other delegates…_

* * *

 

_ First Officers's Log, Stardate 2260.54.13 _

_By the order of Starfleet Personnel, Shore Leave has been mandated to be taken in turn by all crew members effective immediately. Despite initial reservations against this rule, I have been informed by Doctor Leonard McCoy that the order follows his recommendation; medical has noted increased levels of stress and fatigue among the crew, and it is his professional opinion that Shore Leave is overdue._

_We shall continue to maintain a patrol in the Babel System and USS Yolanda will be available for transport. It will be leaving for Alpha Centauri in 80 hours time and Captain Kirk has requested that I make the necessary arrangements. By current projections, Shore Leave will commence in 72 hours; standard Shore Leave rotation schedules according to rank/shift/position are being compiled…_

* * *

 

_ Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 2260.56.03 _

_Still drifting around Babel; attended a session of conference – sat next to Spock who was pricklier than a cactus; I thought he was going to strangle me when I asked him about dinner in the middle of a speech being made by the Sulamid Ambassador. Seems I should have read Uhura's compendium on our dispatch orders in greater detail._

_Most of the talks were review of new Federation countermeasures against planetary catastrophes on the scale of Vulcan's destruction; depressing stuff especially having to discuss the stats about New Vulcan and how they're going. Never seen such a decisive board of politicians; new protocols for a planetary evacuation and plans for colonies all being enacted. Everyone kept on topic – mostly – and avoided character assassination. Tensions are pretty high – and I don't like the way things are going: I think I speak for everyone when I say that we didn't graduate top of the Academy to do another month of Neutral Zone patrols._

_In other news, it's quiet on the ship, since Spock has very kindly sent a bunch of them to Alpha Centauri for some R &R. I feel like we're the only ones on duty – Deck Five is empty since anyone who is someone has been booted off for some fun. Section chiefs and command officers even get an extra day – which would be great, if Spock would let me off the hook. Knew I shouldn't have let him decide the rosters._

_And Spock, if you are reading this – and I know you read all my unlocked entries so don't even pretend – 3D chess my quarters 2000 hours. You owe me that much after turning down my request for leave._

* * *

 

_USS Enterprise, Bridge Deck, year 2260_

The dispatch notice came at 0300 hours shipboard time, during the one gamma shift that week when no senior officer or department chiefs were on duty. It was concise and direct from Starfleet Command:  _USS Enterprise_ was to convene with the science vessels _USS Lockwood_ and _Copernicus_ at the last known location of the Romulan vessel _Narada_ – further details classified, briefing at Commanding Officer's discretion en route. There were no further details yet it was unambiguous in its urgency.

* * *

 

_Orbit above Vulcan, year 2245_

Spock fought them. He kicked, punched and twisted but it was useless; his captors were stronger. He caught one of the men in the abdomen but the humanoid only growled and came at him again. They spoke to him in a language that sounded like something he should understand but despite the familiarity of the noises, nothing they said seemed coherent. Instead the meanings lingered, familiar and alien, just out of his comprehension. Before he could note anything else, Spock was falling. He registered that he was plummeting backwards into nothingness a split second before the panic hit, a searing kick to his gut.

Pain splintered through his skull and along his spine at the impact. Everything blurred as his body struggle between keeping still and writhing in agony. Above him, dirty unshaven humanoid faces looked down on him from the hole he fell through. There was the sound of metal scrapping against metal, and finally, darkness. Something swelled inside of him.

Where was he? What was this place? Had mother noticed his absence? Was he going to–?

 _Control yourself, Spock_ – his father's voice rang through his mind, as clear as day – _you must gain control over the manner which you respond to your senses, lest they provoke you. Your senses give you information yes, but it is your mind and logic, which gives you the capacity to respond correctly to external stimuli. Do not let instinctual emotional responses cloud your judgment…_

The young Vulcan sat up slowly and took note of his immediate senses. The ground was hard, _cold_ , some form of metal. Though they had covered his head with a dirty cloth when dragging him to this place, it was obvious he was on a space craft of unknown origin. There was the soft hum – Spock strained his ears – of a functional inertial dampener, supported by his experience of only immediate gravitational forces. The taste, the humidity and even the smell of the atmosphere seemed to support his conclusion; this was not Vulcan, he was aboard a ship.

He touched the back of his head gingerly, unable to stop a wince of pain. It came away wet but thick. His blood was already clotting over the wound to repair the damage. The knowledge comforted him.

* * *

 

_USS Enterprise, Deck Five, the Captain's Quarters, year 2260_

It was way, _way_ past bedtime.

It was so late that if Bones caught him, he'd get jabbed with seven different hyposprays before he knew what hit him. Yeah, that was about right, he mused cheerfully to himself – especially if Bones found out the reason why he was up late.

Spock raised his eyes and slowly quirked that one eyebrow. Jim stared back and resisted the urge gloat. No, he would keep quiet this time but that didn't mean he wasn't laughing on the inside. This was not the first time they'd played chess, but ever since the Recreations Chief had brought 3D chess aboard, Jim had been on a losing streak longer than Halley's comet. That, however, was ending _tonight_ – right here right now. He was going to win tonight and it felt damn good. And it only took him – his eyes flicked to the chronometer on the wall – six hours and twenty seven minutes. He was going to be sorry when he dragged his sorry ass out of bed for alpha shift but damn, it would be worth the pain if only to get Spock to stop being so damn smug about it.

"Mate in six," He said casually, unable to stop his mouth from curling up just that little bit.

"Interesting… " Spock demurred, which with a head tilt meant that he was actually pretty pleased, "yet unwise of you to share your –"

"Bridge to Captain Kirk," The intercom in his room whistled, startling them. Spock gave the intercom a curious frown. It was late, way too late for the Bridge to be calling the captain in his quarters unless there was an absolute emergency. Jim tensed slightly, "Go ahead, Hannity."

'Sir, we have a dispatch in from Starfleet that needs your command cipher for decoding. Do you want it in your quarters?'

He looked at Spock. "Yes thanks."

'Right away, sir – and, ah, sir?'

"Yes?"

'Do you know where Commander Spock is, Captain? He's not in his quarters or the main Rec hall.'

Jim wondered what he should say. He settled on a sly grin and shaking his head at the Vulcan. "I have a feeling I can find him. Send that over to my quarters too."

'Yes sir. Bridge out.'

Seconds later, his private computer terminal whistled gently, announcing the arrival of new mail. Spinning in his chair, he punched in his personal command codes and quickly skimmed through the dispatch:

 _To James T. Kirk, NCC 1701 Enterprise,_ blah, blah… Jim thought unsympathetically, fighting down the urge to roll his eyes – almost three years and he still didn't understand why dispatches were filled with such useless pandering… _Ordered to abort present mission (REF: Dispatch SFCC/T 14702 Dated: 2260.02.46) and proceed with all due haste to MILANOT 33B/WOLF 359 1609A/ BALLACORE 8956.3.L for Rendezvous with USS Copernicus NCC-623 and USS Lockwood NCC-869 to assess the temporal instability of Milanot Sector…_

Jim frowned at words burning on his screen.

"Is something wrong, Jim?"

"I'll say…' He mumbled, suddenly wide awake though he should have been asleep four hours ago, "you're not going believe this, Spock: we've just been ordered to take a tour of the artificial singularity."

Spock's eyes narrowed, "The _Narada_."

* * *

 

_Planet-side: Earth, Iowa, year 2245_

James T. Kirk sat on the steps of the porch and rubbed a fist against the tears that threatened to well up. Not crying, dammit. Not this time, not for this. If he didn't cry when Big Stan and his gang beat him up last year so bad he needed more than a dermal fix, then he wouldn't cry for getting clubbed on the head over a bottle of whiskey. Behind him the sounds of Frank storming around like a drunk came less frequently and finally, sweet silence.

The man was probably passed out on the sofa again, stinking like a still, his fake leg thrown onto the floor next to him. He hated this, the helplessness - shit, why did he even try to get Frank to stop drinking? That other time, Frank screamed obscenities at him because the pain was real bad and told him off for even considering bringing anyone over to the house. He was allowed to stay over at other people's places, but the house limits to everyone but family.

_Be considerate, be thoughtful, he's been through so much and I know he has a terrible way with words but you know he loves you, remember that time when –_

_God_ , the sound of his mom's fucking platitudes drove him crazy. But she didn't know anything; she wasn't here, she wasn't watching the man who read Zefram Cochrane's biography to him for bedtime when he was a kid drive off into an antique motor vehicle with no safety features, so drunk he was stumbling and couldn't even say 'Jimmy' right when he started cursing at him. He'd torn after the car screaming Frank's name, running until he was so tired he was ready to pass out and the car was long gone in a trail of dust.

And wanting to sell it? That had just been low - the last straw. God, he was ever so glad he had ridden the car off a cliff. Never mind that it had belonged to his dad, and Frank shouldn't have even _thought_ about it, but just the idea of all those credits being exchanged for more booze to kill what little of Frank was left made him sick, just sick.

James stood up and tiptoed inside, closing the door slowly even though the old-fashioned hinges needed oil and would squeak no matter how gently or slowly he swung the door. The house was lit by the single light in the kitchen, the table strew with pre-packed food containers and empty bottles. In the sitting area, Frank was passed out on the sofa with his good leg stretched out, drooling slightly. Asleep, he looked frail; the lines on his forehead deepening in the shadows, his standard grimace softening. He looked old, battered, sickly, not like an administrator for the Federation Council who on his first trip in space on a diplomatic mission, was taken captive by the Romulan Star Empire.

 _You don't divorce people who need you_ , his mother had said, _just don't, Jimmy, don't, if he was your real father or even me, you wouldn't even dare. Frank needs you, honey, it'll get better, Jimmy, I promise_. That was over a year ago. Frank hadn't gotten better. He was getting worse.

Deep down inside, James didn't think that his dad, George Samuel Kirk, would never end up like this – a pitiful, sniveling excuse of a human. His dad had been a hero. His dad had been amazing, and though no one said it, James knew that his dad wouldn't have returned home like this. But Frank wasn't his dad. Frank wasn't a Starfleet officer trained to handle whatever those Romulan bastards did to him. The guilt started surfacing, making him feel like he should be nicer to Frank somehow, but his anger and disgust fought against it – one day, the guilt was going to burn out, and he didn't plan on being around when that happened.

James hesitated on the threshold between the sitting area and the kitchen, wondering if he should fetch a blanket from upstairs and cover Frank. It was getting chilly, the seasons changing, and it was always a bit cold at night on the farm. An obstinate part of him didn't want to – Frank could go rot – but he felt like he ought to do something. Just as he was thinking about it, he caught a sound outside, rustling, like something was moving about in the bushes. James turned around and tried to see beyond the screen door. Something was moving out there in the dark.

'Hello...? Is someone there?' He checked the clock. It was well past midnight, and it couldn't be any of the neighbors – way too late, plus the next house over was like two miles. He hadn't heard a vehicle approaching and someone had to be crazy covering all that on foot in the total dark. The only person it might be was Sam, but he wasn't meant to be arriving till tomorrow for the weekend. 'Sam is that you?' He hissed, 'did you skip out on school early again?'

There was no answer. _Jerk_ , James thought angrily of his older brother.

"Come on Sam, this isn't funny!" Suddenly there was a sound from the back door, a sharp squeak from the hinges followed heavy footsteps. He turned and barely opened his mouth to let out a scream before a large hot hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He heard a hiss under his ear and then, darkness.

* * *

 

_Location unknown, year 2245_

Spock felt along the floor till he found a wall, and continued along till he found a corner. Methodically he got to his feet, his hands sliding up the cold metal wall. The cell was twelve standard units long and ten standard units wide, walls smooth hard metal except for ventilation grids. Vertically, it had to be at least three or four standard units – even on his toes, he couldn't touch were the ceiling met the wall, and the drop to the floor from the hatch had seemed quite high. Spock curled up in a corner and tried to quiet his mind, to consider why he would be here, and what he would do next. A faint sense of nausea crawled through his stomach.

The most obvious possibility was that this kidnapping was somehow connected to his father's work. This had happened before, though usually under far more formalized circumstances, where Mother and he had been held hostage on the worlds still practicing the hostage-system as a means of ensuring political stability or fair negotiations. Spock had always considered it to be an illogical practice, as Sarek was Vulcan and therefore not prone to being emotionally swayed. But this time, he noted with a sense of foreboding, was not the usual formal hostage situation.

He had been snatched from his home at the end of the night time cycle. Though he could not be sure, he did not think that his parents were in the same predicament. No, his parents had not returned home last night after their function at their predicted time – it seemed reasonable to postulate that they were occupied, perhaps staying on for whatever reason, and totally unaware of his situation. Spock also knew that his father was not engaged in any of his duties to act as the neutral third party at the request of any Federation Protectorate World. This however, he reminded himself, did not mean his father was not engaged in confidential Ambassadorial duties. While Spock was privy to many things in his father's life, there were always certain areas of Sarek's working life that were kept quiet. However, if these duties should lead to this…

Spock shivered. Cold seeped into his limbs. His breathing was excessively loud in the dark space, like a mechanical noise rather than that of a living creature. He estimated that unless he received outer garments within the hour, he was likely to begin to suffer the effects of exposure to the chill of his cell. Tucking his chin between his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs, Spock curled up tightly to preserve body heat. He estimated that it had been over three standard hours since his arrival.

Suddenly, light spilled into his room from above, which would have been blinding if he had been directly underneath after so much time in darkness. The hatch for his cell was dragged open without warning. His captors were back. Spock scrambled to his feet, feeling an acute sense of vertigo flash through him. Something hit the ground with a sodden thump followed by a humanoid figure. He took note of his new companion's features in the clinical light – light hair, skin with a faint pink hue, biopolymer clothing: Terran human, most likely – before the hatch was closed with a loud clang.

In the darkness, Spock got down onto his hands and knees, feeling his way across the cold floor till his hand curled into something soft, and most importantly warm. With a stifled whimper of relief, he pulled at the cloth, dislodging it from underneath his new companion and wrapping part of it around himself.

There was a sound of distress from the stranger, followed by heavy panicked gasps for air. Spock froze, uncertain what he should do. Mother said that humans instinctually craved touch as a biological imperative in times of distress or injury, especially young humans. The science behind it was rather odd but proven to be true: humans who had prolonged physical contact produced more serotonin and dopamine, two chemicals that created a sense of well-being in humans. Spock steeled himself, crawled closer and reached blindly in the darkness.

His fingers curled through hair, then found an ear, soft, rounded (like Mother's, he thought) – a mix of flexible cartilage and flesh.

A clammy hand grabbed him in the dark and his mental shields dropped a little in surprise, giving him a flash of fear, determination and images of a foreign night sky, an old-fashioned chronometer. Quickly Spock rectified his mental shields again but the image of the clock stayed with him; Mother had one in her study. His companion made a sound of fright, pushing him away.

"Do not be alarmed," He said, using Standard.

"Who are you? Where am I?" The voice was hurried, full of tonal inflections, reminiscent of his mother's oft informal manner of speech, "I can't see!"

He sensed impending panic and knew that he had to calm the boy as quickly as possible. Having interacted with his Human cousins and Human children residing on Vulcan, Spock knew that young Humans were even more temperamental than adults. In fact, Humans, in general, were not known for their composure but this was an inopportune time for such histrionics. Spock doubted that their captors would be pleased – no, he thought grimly, their captors may come back, wanting to know what was happening, and he wanted to find out more about the situation before they did.

"You are not blind. There are no lights on. My name is Spock; my father is Sarek, Vulcan Ambassador to Earth."

There was a slight pause before the Human responded swiftly, words clear. "James Kirk, Iowa, Earth, my mom works in Starfleet - any idea what's going on?"

Spock wondered what he should say. He was somewhat disappointed for he had been hoping the boy would know more. "I was taken from my home, a short time before the day cycle on Vulcan."

" _Vulcan_? I was at home, on Earth!"

Spock frowned at the new information. He had been here for three standard hours; the time needed for the ship to have evaded planetary defenses within Federation territory, locate James Kirk – whom didn't appear by his account to be someone of significance – and then apprehend him, the vessel must be equipped with the latest in warp drives or…

"Do you know where we are?" There was a plaintive note in the Human's voice.

Spock wondered what the boy's emotional response would be if he were to reply negatively. _Vulcans do not lie, it is illogical, however, there is logic in presenting the facts in a way that will directly address the needs and motivations of the individual whom you are dealing with. It is a fundamental part of diplomacy, Spock, and one which I hope you shall emulate in your dealings with your agemates…_

"We appear to be captives on a ship of unknown origin," He stated, carefully gauging the response of his companion with what senses he had available. The Human made no clear response to the statement and instead began to move around.

"How big is this place? Is there a light switch somewhere? Hello! Hellllooo!" James Kirk called out, pausing to listen for echoes. The boy got up with a grunt and from the sound of his breathing, had bypassed where Spock sat and was headed towards one of the cell walls.

"Be careful, the cell is ten by twelve standard units," Spock warned, not wanting the Human to injury himself in the dark. It was obviously too late for there was a thump and a grunt of pain before the boy wandered back to him, this time taking the more cautious method of crawling.

"Oh, hi," the boy said meekly when Spock reached out with a hand to stop them from colliding. "So err… you were saying?"

Though James Kirk would not be able to see him, Spock frowned at his companion's levity.

"Our captors are humanoid in stature and appearance. My speculation is that as we are both the young of our species, perhaps we are meant to be bargained as an emotional incentive for our parents."

There was a snort. "In other words, you haven't the faintest idea why we're here." Spock did not appreciate the boy's light attitude at their ignorance. There was nothing humorous about their kidnapping, and the uncertainty of the intentions of their captors meant that they were in a most precarious situation.

"This is not amusing."

"I'm not laughing."

Spock had nothing to say to that.

For a young Human, James Kirk was behaving admirably – for one, he had not started to cry and seemed to be accepting the situation with great aplomb. _Be grateful for small mercies_ , mother always said. Though the boy was not somebody he usually interacted with, his presence did make this ordeal less taxing… and if Spock were to admit it, more bearable. It would be only logical to nurture a relationship between them, a working one if nothing else, on the basis of ensuring mutual survival.

Decision made, Spock slowly loosened his hold on the blanket, "Are you cold?"

* * *

 

_USS Enterprise, Deck 7, year 2260_

"How's the weather in Milanot?" Spock paused mid-stride, glancing over at him before turning back to the PADD and resuming his course through Deck 7. Jim Kirk gave way to one of the medics pushing a trolley then quickened his pace to catch up, taking care not to spill his coffee. He hadn't slept a wink since yesterday and coffee was about the only thing keeping him going now.

After their late chess match had been interrupted, he had immediately gone over the dispatch in detail with Spock before heading over to run through the systems updates with Scotty. The chief engineer had been confused about why they were making such drastic upgrades after just having completed system calibrations two months ago, but the lure of new system specs that Ambassador Spock had sent them from aboard the _Copernicus_ had silenced any questions he had. Judging by the thoroughness of the blueprints and dossiers, the ambassador had been planning this for a while, possibly even predicted this eventuality. Either way, that was one wily old Vulcan.

"Generally unremarkable, if you take into account the size and unusual nature of the singularity." Spock replied in low distracted tones, tapping his stylus on the screen to bring up a detailed report by the _Copernicus_ ' science officer, a Lieutenant Commander Fernandez.

"The ships have begun to take turns in monitoring the fluctuations of the temporal rift, due to the strain on their engines."

Jim winced as he took a sip of his hot beverage, "That bad huh?"

"Unfortunately."

The _USS Copernicus_ and _USS Lockwood_ were two of Starfleet's foremost science vessels. Boasting an impressive department of scientists in all fields, the two vessels had been permanently stationed there several months before to examine the massive black hole that formed around the combustion of distilled Decalithium, otherwise infamously known as Red Matter.

While Starfleet had been relieved to not have lost Earth in the circumstances that took Vulcan, the damage to that area of space where the _Narada_ was defeated had been extensive enough to be a concern. Currently, there were plans to build an outpost, an idea being fast-tracked after a passenger cruiser lost all engines nearby due to a raid by Klingon pirates and was pulled in. All hands had been presumed lost, till the ship showed up six months later 900 light years from where it had gone missing, all occupants swearing that only seconds had passed, their testimonies supported by shipboard data. Talk about having a potential disaster on your hands; the Department of Temporal Investigations, which didn't get a lot of action generally, had nearly quadrupled in size in the last two years, with the surviving members of the Vulcan Science Academy drafted in by the dozens, not to mention that new department which sprung up about just last month – the Temporal Mechanics Department.

Spock continued to speak, frowning down at the screen as if it was doing something very irritating and he wasn't having any of it. "It's been dubbed _Oguro_ , by Dr. Josephine Yamada of the _Copernicus_. It stands for 'Big Black' in the Japanese variant of Earth's old languages."

"Nice."

Spock gave him a sideways glance that said he strongly disagreed with Jim, but wasn't going to waste his breath commenting on what his captain must know to be an illogical and contradictory statement. Jim hid his tired grin behind the rim of his coffee cup and drained half of its contents.

"When should we do the ship-wide announcements?" He asked, nodding and smiling to a group of midshipman who stood to attention as they passed, "We've got seven hours until we reach Starbase Alpha 3."

"I recommend as soon as possible, Captain, so the crew may make the necessary preparations."

The words settled cold and unnatural in his gut despite the hot coffee. Necessary preparations; it sounded _awful_ because how could anyone prepare themselves to leave everything they knew and go into the past? There was a twinge in his heart at the thought of Bones who had a daughter and the few members of the crew that were married, were going to be leaving behind spouses if they decided to take this mission, leaving parents, siblings – _dammit_ , this wasn't going to be easy. Jim didn't want to give Bones a choice in the matter; the man was the best surgeon they had, but if his friend turned down going on this mission, well, he'll make do somehow. _Yeah, well there were some things that were more important than Starfleet… like family, life and all that… these things are the whole damn reason that Starfleet exists… to protect them… your mother understands that, your father understood that – too well…_ He quickly shut down that line of thought.

"Think the plan will work?" Jim asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. Spock gave him a searching look.

"I mean, there's no way we can know for sure that we can even get back to the same time period, heck, we might even end up in another quadrant…"

"There is no point in speculation."

He supposed there wasn't. "Yeah, but you got to admit, this is crazier than most of the things we've done, Spock."

"And yet you are universally acknowledged by the Federation media as "The Wild Card" – a most apt description considering the number of missions the _Enterprise_ has completed under your command. Based on past statistics, this crew is most likely to succeed," Spock delivered flatly, and looked down at the PADD as if it were something distasteful. Jim felt a grin tug at his lips, not missing the fact he'd just been complimented in Spock's own, roundabout way.

"The probably of achieving our mission objective is 31.46 percent – this takes into account the engine updates and other technological expertise that my counterpart has willingly provided, as well as the element of surprise on our side. Of course, this is based on the assumption we will survive passage through the singularities' temporal rift and that–"

Jim clapped his first officer on the shoulder firmly to stop the coming spiel. "We'll be fine. Trust me."

Spock gave him a pointed look, one eyebrow quirking in a way that said frankly he thought that Jim was completely unaware of what he was saying but he would graciously give him the benefit of the doubt. Overly familiar with the reaction, Jim ignored it to grin brightly at an engineer who'd fixed his shower last week. _Like you said Spock, crew morale isn't going to be improved if I staggered around the corridors weeping, or was that roaming the corridors weeping? Dammit, got to get Bones to tell me that story again…_

"The chance of our return to our own timeline after the mission is complete is 3.3304%."

He finished his coffee as he stepped into the turbolift, controlling his reaction. Those numbers made him more than a little nervous, "That good huh?"

"Unfortunately," Spock murmured, stepping after Jim into the lift.

* * *

 

_Location unknown, year 2245_

After checking James Kirk for injuries, they had shared the details of their lives, their social backgrounds, the political affiliations of their parents and the details of their occupations. With no clear conclusions, Spock directed his focus to practicalities and suggested they rest, mindful that his companion had started to yawn.

They had arranged themselves in a satisfactory manner along one of the walls, huddled together underneath the thick fabric. The boy propped his head upon Spock's shoulder with a cursory request. Spock didn't protest. It reminded him of mother, who liked to place his head against her shoulder in such a pose. It was meant to be a way of providing care and comfort among Humans. Though he'd questioned the benefits she received, she insisted it was therapeutic for _both_ parties and that he humor her. Filling the role of caregiver for the first time, Spock saw that his mother had been correct. The discomfort of James' head against his shoulder was accompanied by a soothing sense of… _being grounded_ , especially in the absence of any light.

Spock slipped into meditation as was his habit. He focused on the peaks of Mount Seleya, burning in the distance under 40 Eridani A, and was faintly aware of the hours passing as James Kirk slept. By the end of the session, Spock estimated that his body temperature had risen to just below his usual.

Finally, James stirred and there was the sound of a yawn, "Morning, I think."

Early morning, one of the coolest parts of the desert day, had finished hours ago in _ShiKahr_. It was most likely the afternoon now though he couldn't be certain; time seemed to crawl inside this small dark space. His parents had been attending a function and he last saw them yesterday. His mother would have finished her visit to have a communal meal with the other humans currently stationed at the capital. His father would be resting, in meditation perhaps, secluded in his study after morning meetings, both private and official.

He wondered if they had discovered his disappearance, and what their reactions were. Mother would need to be reassured; his father most likely would contact Starfleet as the kidnapping of any immediate relations of a prolific diplomat fell under the jurisdiction of Starfleet Security.

With effort, Spock brushed aside his thoughts, "Are you rested?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Spock wondered if it would be rude to tell James to remove his head from his shoulder.

"You think they're gonna feed us?"

"Yes. If we are to be hostages, they will need to provide us with sustenance." James straightened, drawing away from him. Spock's ears picked up the sound of joints cracking followed by another yawn.

"Oh, man, I feel like I slept on a rock – no offense to you or anything."

It was a fair if slightly inaccurate assessment of their current accommodations.

"No offense taken," he replied reflexively then flushed – father was right, he had been spending too much time with mother's acquaintances. He quickly picked up from where they'd left the conversation, "What do you remember before your capture?"

The Human made a strange sound, blowing air out between his lips, "I dunno, it was late."

"Late?"

There was an annoyed sound. It was so Human and reminiscent of mother that Spock turned towards the sound instinctively.

"Late as in, it was dark, night time, biological-imperative-insists-upon-sleep-rest-whatever time."

"I see. Is there anything else that you recall?"

"Nope, they snuck up on me, jabbed me out cold before I saw anything. They're big though. The guy that grabbed me, his hands were huge."

Spock agreed. What little images he managed to retain from his short experience being brought to this cell, their captors were indeed large in size by Terran and Vulcan standards.

"I'm hungry."

As if anticipating those words, the hatch above suddenly opened once more and a large humanoid dropped heavily down into the cell with them. Spock stood slowly, wary and alert. There was a phaser-like weapon on their captor's belt, as well as what appeared to be a retractable blade. A male it seemed, bald with tattoos along the sides of his face, a square jaw, thick beard and – Spock noted with shock – elongated ears that formed a point. James Kirk's eyes went wide and he pointed frantically.

" _You guys are Vulcans!_ " The inflection in the tone made it both a statement and a question.

The angry look the man shot them was distinctively _un_ -Vulcan in every way.

He stepped closer to James and grabbed the boy's hand, ignoring his own discomfort at the touch to jerk the boy back and away from their visitor.

"James," he said tersely, "I do not believe he is Vulcan."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is my big epic fic that has the ST ensemble cast, plus guest appearances from Pike, Winona K. and a host of other random TOS side characters in their reboot form. Based on a prompt from STXI kink meme, it's got a lot of plot going on, and very slow progression in relationship development. It will be no more than thirty parts. I love ST novels - so I kind of like slash, but I grew up reading ST novels as a kid and that definitely bled over into this story.
> 
> This is part one of a really long story. I've got the draft of the final chapter and wanted the rest to be up already on AO3 by the time I was ready to post it, so it'll all be together :)
> 
> [this version of part 1 was uploaded 08 may 2010 to ff.net and then re-edited in feb 2015 for small grammar issues to be posted here]


	2. Chapter 2

_USS Enterprise, Personal Quarters, Deck Eight, year 2260_

Uhura bent over, raking her hands urgently through her long thick hair till it was in one neat bundle and clasped it. Standing upright, she gave herself a cursory once over and sighed; the high ponytail was simply the most efficient hairdo to wear on the ship, though she wished she had time for something different. It had probably not been a good idea to stay up late in the labs tracking astral phenomena with the dedicated science department, even though her aural sensitivities usually added an extra dimension to the data collected. She felt about as tired as one could feel with only limited sleep, but that was life aboard the _Enterprise_. Turning, she left her quarters and set a quick pace for the bridge. Upon the turbolift's arrival, the lieutenant in the captain's chair stood to attention and directed her to the Briefing Room. She nodded her thanks.

It seemed she was early. Spock was present, which wasn't a surprise, along with Chekov and Scotty, who gave a feeble wave, the other half of a sandwich flopping out of his mouth. Uhura hid her grin. Sulu came in right behind, almost stumbling into her. She waved off his sheepish apology and sat. McCoy was next, looking possibly even more unpleasant than usual. The only man missing was the man of the hour, one Captain James T. Kirk.

The door slid open, almost as if it had read her mind.

"Morning folks," He looked surprisingly awake and cheery as he sat down, totally ignoring the dismay on everyone's face at the hour, except for Spock, naturally.

Uhura gave up on trying to contain her bemusement and let out a small smile. Of course he lived on adrenalin, could go for days without rest, naturally he was fine after just a mere two hours of sleep. If this turned out to be non-essential - and she wouldn't put it beneath him because he'd done this sort of thing once last year when he thought everyone need to 'chill out' - then she was going to soundly pummel him off-duty, Captain or no Captain. Over two years and she still couldn't quite shake off her first impressions of him - all drunken leer, mussed hair, and bad pick up lines. On the other hand, it was refreshing to have a young commanding officer that didn't put himself on a pedestal much less allow anyone else to entertain the notion – Captain "Call me Jim" Kirk.

"Okay, let's get this under way. Spock, you wanna do the talking?"

Spock inclined his head. Almost immediately the table came to attention, because if it was some convoluted bonding scheme, the Vulcan wouldn't be in on it.

Uhura scanned the PADD in front of her. Rendezvous with the _Copernicus_ and _Lockwood_ , assist in ascertaining the state of the crew of the _Umpqua_ – hmm, Uhura tapped her finger on the edge of the PADD; the name sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"At 0300 hours, the _Enterprise_ received an urgent dispatch from Starfleet Command to proceed with deliberate speed to the last known location of the Romulan vessel _Narada_."

Everyone shifted in their seats, each caught up in their own memories. It had been two years but it still hurt to think of all the people that had died, such as members in the Xenolinguistics club, her friends Sue Deng and Josepha Meyers. An entire graduating class gone except for them on the _Enterprise_ and a hundred cadets who had been grounded that day. It was nothing; after all this was out of a class of nearly five thousand. She ran her eyes over Spock's face - solemn as always, but stiff and even more unfathomable than usual.

"As you will recall, the Captain ordered the _Narada_ be destroyed, with the intent of preventing the ship and its crew from another attempt to alter events as they were drawn into the singularity and possibly-"

"Sorry to cutting in here, Commander," Scotty looked confused, "But this _Umpqua_ \- back in me days at the Academy, there was a ship that was lost in action in the Milanot region by the same name. Wasn't it investigating some sort of phenomena in space and then poof, just offed and gone? Did they build another one?"

Spock inclined his head, "That is correct, Commander, the _USS Umpqua_ we are to rendezvous with is indeed one and the same."

* * *

_Location unknown, year 2245_

Spock did not appreciate being held by the arm like an unruly infant, but he kept silent and allowed their guard to pull him through the large cavernous insides of what he had correctly hypothesized to be a ship. He took careful note of the cold faces that turned to gaze upon their procession, the array of tattoos, their shaved scalps and unclean appearances, as well as the unfamiliar, rather unusual interface of the technology, coupled with the familiar glyphs scribed along various terminals and bulkheads.

Finally, they stopped in a large room, dark with a high ceiling. The main bridge, he inferred, with the concentration of computer terminals, its seclusion from the rest of the ship and the generous view-screen dominating one section of the wall.

A man turned and looked at them. The intensity of his gaze was most unsettling. Besides him, James shifted nervously under their guard's hand.

"Spock," The man said softly, before his expression became hard. "It's been awhile, Spock."

The man's eyes roamed down his form.

Spock felt a curl of unease unfold in his stomach. "Pardon me sir, but I do not believe we have met."

The man's smile was very much unlike mother's or any he had seen before. It did not appear to be a smile though it had all the physical implications of one. _Something was off_ , as James had said when he had explained to the boy his theory regarding their presence on board. The man's eyes moved to James. He strode towards them, his footsteps loud and heavy. Standing over them, he stared at them for a long silent moment. Spock felt a creeping sensation over his skin and held his breath.

He curled his fingers thoughtfully through a lock of James' hair, "My wife, she had hair like yours, like a dark sun."

The comment was confusing and, Spock tilted his head slightly, out of context. He wondered if it was to unsettle them. If that were the goal, then the man had succeeded. James' entire body was softly trembling.

"She's dead you know, along with the rest of Romulus." He said, with an unpleasant quirk of his lips, "Not that you'd care, right Spock? You -" He glared at Spock with cool vitriol, "-said you'd save them – I gave you what you needed to save them and you promised, you promised me to _my face_." The Vulcanoid spat the words out, like they were filthy. Stepping back, he ran his hand along his bare scalp roughly, and paced in agitation.

Spock stiffened, his mind reeling. _Romulus_ … the homeworld of the Romulan Star Empire; the mythical descendents of Master S'Task and his allies, those Vulcans from long, long ago who had left and whose history was a story rather than a recorded fact; the enemies of the Federation and the instigator of the Romulan War! He was not privy to all of his father's business but he knew enough that many years ago, a Romulan vessel had unexpectedly attacked Federation vessels near Trianguli 15, revealing their Vulcanoid heritage and greatly disturbing relations between Vulcan and the Federation Council. Only the existence of various other Vulcanoid races, who were full-fledge Federation members, had stilled the Andorian/Tellarite accusations of espionage and deceit, that Vulcan was a puppet government of the Romulans and had been from the inception of the Federation.

"They called you a wise man – your name was known among the stars. But you allowed my world to die, my wife, my child…" The Romulan stopped in his ramblings and eyed James. Slowly walking over again, he dropped down on one knee, smiling as if he was explaining this to a particularly dimwitted child. "You're the reason I failed though, you-" The man reached out and roughly ran a hand through James' hair, painfully squeezing down. He chuckled when the boy wretched his head away with a glare, "-will help him destroy me when I seek my revenge, James T. Kirk, _Captain_ , and your cursed _Enterprise_."

He shared a look with James. No one had ever seen a Romulan in the flesh before, at least not as a matter of public record, and now it appeared one from the future was standing before them, claiming that he had come back in time for revenge on an event that had not yet happened and been thwarted in the recent future by the two of them. A most perplexing state of events, and Spock admitted with apprehension, cause for great concern.

"I hope you are aware, sir, that under the treaty agreed upon after the Battle of Cheron in 2160, there is a designated Neutral Zone, and entering into that area of space or any Federation territory constitutes an act of war- "

"I don't care about your treaties or your Neutral Zones!" The man roared.

Besides him, James flinched.

The man stared at him, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. Spock found it difficult to return his gaze when he was eyed as if he were a xenobiological specimen. Finally, the Romulan spoke, his voice hollow; "Not a day goes by without the suffering of losing my home. I wait, every day, for that Vulcan bastard to show up, so I may have my revenge. Then… one day, one of my crew – _from the future no less_ – arrives to tell me the exact time of his arrival. But she also brings news of my failure and disgrace and… well," The man grinned fiendishly, "I always knew I should have killed you when I had the chance – no matter which one of you it is, you're still Spock."

Spock felt a tremor go through him; though it was still unclear, he knew several pertinent facts. This man claimed to be from a distant future where the Romulan homeworld had been destroyed – an event that the future him could have prevented, but for some reason unable; he could not believe that he would deliberately do such a thing, no matter how events should play out in his life – life was sacred, and the right to life was undeniable, this much he knew as a follower of Surakian principles. This man was certain that his counterpart from the far future would arrive, upon which he planned to exact revenge for what he viewed as a betrayal. This man knew that his attempt at revenge in the near future had failed, due to Starfleer intervention with James – Spock glanced at his new acquaintance with some interest – and himself as his opponents.

The man switched his penetrating gaze to James, who went rigid and stared boldly back. Spock didn't know if he admired his strength or thought it foolish.

"My revenge will fail… because of you and your little friend here, Spock… in your stupid little ship. Well, that isn't going to happen again this time – I learn my lessons. It's not enough to just deprive you of the lives you should have had, not enough to just kill you."

There was a pressure against his wrist. James was tugging on the edge of his sleeve. Spock felt a strong urge to reassure James by a hand on the shoulder as per human custom but refrained under the heavy stare of the Romulans around them. The Romulan scrutinized their appearances as if they were a puzzle he could not understand, his emotional countenance varying greatly between confusion, cold rage and humor. Finally, the man looked away, stumbling back to his chair.

"Take him away."

Spock wondered if it would be unbecoming of him to sigh.

"Not him!" The man snapped, gesturing at James, "He stays."

James gave him a frightened glance but quickly schooled his expression to be impassive. Spock felt a flush of admiration and surprise at the Human for the unexpected show of composure, and then quickly concern as he glanced over at the brooding expression upon the Romulan's face. James reached out and snatched his hand, clasping it tightly and making a sound of distress as Spock was pulled away and they were separate by a guard who pushed the boy back towards the chair where the man sat.

He expected James to be distressed, to call out but the boy said nothing, just stared at him, eyes wide with fear. He held the boy's gaze till the guard pulled him through the doors and out of sight.

* * *

_USS Enterprise Briefing Room, year 2260_

Uhura blinked. One and the same? But Scotty had a student at the Academy almost fifteen years ago!

"The _USS Umpqua_ was traveling through that area of space approximately fifteen years ago when it disappeared. It appears that while we had been successful in destroying the ship, there was an unforeseen consequence of the Red Matter being deployed in such a manner, with large-scale temporal disturbances being one side effect. As far as the crew of the _Umpqua_ is aware, only seconds have passed -"

She glanced to the side as Kirk looked up sharply at Spock's words, something unspoken on his face.

"-and they bring news that unfortunately, it appears that we were unsuccessful in our attempt to destroy the _Narada_. The crew of the _Umpqua_ reported that in the duration of their study, they had picked up sensor readings of a small vessel - origin unknown - exiting the "electric storm in space" heading towards the Neutral Zone. I can only assume that a member of the _Narada_ crew has indeed survived via an escape pod and plans to convene with the _Narada_ of that time."

There was a terse silence.

Agitated, Kirk tapped his stylus on the table in an impatient manner, "Basically folks, we have a Romulan, alive, fifteen years in the past, with knowledge of how things would turn out if Nero just sat around waiting - anyone see where I'm heading with this?"

Uhura shared a look with Sulu. Yes, Nero could be right this very moment, armed with the knowledge of how they defeated him or rather who defeated him, be in the process of killing their younger counterparts in the new time-stream. Spock hit one of the buttons to draw up the holographic displays and a working to-scale model of the Milanot system blinked into existence above the conference table.

"Our mission has been given to us directly by Starfleet Command; we are to follow the escape pod into the past and make every attempt to prevent any further disturbance to the timeline."

* * *

_Location unknown, year 2245_

"You know… it's rather funny…. I've read about you – I can't seem to get it right, can I?" The man chuckled darkly at his own joke, "My world burns, my wife and child slaughtered, and I want one thing, one _little_ thing in compensation and no, I can't even have that because I just happen to run into the most fearsome Starfleet Captain to be born – ever, considering that they still murmur your name in awe over a hundred years from now. I can hardly believe, that you, _you_ , came after me. By the Elements, I should be proud – _the_ James T. Kirk and his battle companions on the _Enterprise_." The man smiled thinly and rested his chin on his curled fist, slouching back in his seat like a king surveying his domain.

James T. Kirk stood as still as he could, trying to perfect a bored expression on his face. The man had been talking for awhile, and he could just keep on talking; even if his mom was never there, she'd taught him two good things. One; knowledge is power and two; they can't get you if you ain't afraid of them. James wasn't planning on taking his eyes off the viewscreen and giving them the satisfaction. He heard a loud sniff by his right ear and felt his skin jump in fright. The Romulan roared with laughter and slapped his knee. He felt a flush burn his cheeks.

An unnaturally hot hand curved around his jaw and tilted his head up.

"You're so young, it's funny, you just don't get it do you?" The Romulan gave him a broad smile that almost looked normal, "Every picture I ever saw of you, you were old, an admiral, a warrior. You were considered _a great warrior_. We respected you – even if we hated you. But look at you," The man pinched his cheek hard enough to bruise, and it took everything inside of him to not stumble forwards, "Nothing but a child; your bones are even still _soft_."

He turned his eyes to the man addressing him and felt a burst of hate. He'd heard the stories, he'd covered the Romulan War in school, knew what they did to people, and shit, what they did to Frank.

"Don't look so afraid." The man smiled, "I'm hardly going to disfigure you." With a heavy pat on the head, the man sat back once more, "We're _Rhiannsu_ and we know how to be civilized, decent. Besides, when Spock does arrive I need him to recognize you, let him know what I stole. It'll be about as good as when I finally destroy Vulcan."

James clenched his teeth, not really listening anymore. It was Romulans who took Frank's leg. It had been a Romulan vessel that attacked the _Kelvin_. Unconfirmed and of course the Empire denied it to high heaven but he always knew it in his gut.

"I knew your father."

He stopped breathing.

"I recognized his ship. Afterwards, of course…"

He glared into the eyes of the Romulan, and promptly spat in the man's face.

The punishment he got was worth it.

* * *

_Location unknown, year 2245_

Spock's eyes snapped open as his light meditation was broken by the sound of the hatch opening. James was thrown unceremoniously into the cell, crashing with a sickening thud of flesh and metal. The boy gave a grunt of pain and curled into a fetal position. A glowing cube was thrown in, along with what appeared to be a medical satchel, before the hatch closed against with an ominous grind of metal against metal.

In the blue semi-darkness, Spock watched James' mouth take quick fleeting gulps of air.

"Are you injured?" He murmured softly.

James made a sound of pain, and then with considerable effort, rolled into an upright seated position, "No, I'm fine."

A _lie_ , Spock inclined his head, one told to alleviate perceived collective suffering ; his father had warned him more than once of this illogical trait in Humans. His father had also instructed him to not comment on this and merely do as the situation warranted regardless of what the Human in question had said. He stood and quickly separated the items from the medical satchel out. There were containers of water, what appeared to be protein bars, as well as bandages and disinfectant, but no hyposprays or dermal-bandages.

"Spock," James whispered, "He killed my dad."

"That is unfortunate." He said truthfully.

Though father would admonish him, he had already accepted that his human nature meant that he would suffer grief at the mere notion of his parent's passing. And the idea of his father's permanent absence did trouble him greatly, though logically it would not be so different from his father's current absences for diplomatic tours.

"Spock…" James' voice had changed, becoming rough and unsteady, followed by sounds that Spock identified as sobbing, "Spock, he killed my dad – my dad – he wasn't meant to die, my dad wasn't meant to die!"

Spock apprehensively looked up; "I'm sorry," He said, though it was illogical.

He remained still as James crawled closer and laid his head on against his shoulder, arms wrapping around his torso. The smell of water filled the air, mixed with something bitter and acrid, and he experienced a physical sensation he did not recognize that rendered him incapable of movement, or speech, his breaths shallow. Spock wondered if this is how Humans felt on Vulcan, when they haven't been given an injection to help them breathe the air.


	3. Chapter 3

_USS Enterprise Briefing Room, year 2260_

Uhura uncrossed and then crossed her legs under the briefing room table as she read her data pad again, flicking back up the document each time her attention had wandered and she realized the only thing her eyes could see was a blurry screen.

"The ship-wide mission announcement will be made before our arrival at _Starbase Alpha 3_ , where all non-essential personnel will disembark."

She felt a tremor run through her. Non-essential personnel in the case of a battle included a majority of communications officers. The specialists for starters, on-board for possible First Contact situations and diplomacy, not battle. Protocol dictated that it'll be her, three relief officers, and three analysts for general subspace chatter/background noise. A department of fifty-three reduced to seven – Uhura bit the inside of her cheek.

"It is expected that a list of essential personnel shall be compiled by all department heads, and that these selected crew be notified immediately after the mission announcement has been made – with the opportunity to decline." Spock paused, his voice changing from the cool clinical tone that he'd been using through most of the meeting to something quieter, more awkward. "It is expected that all personnel who pursue this mission will be allowed to record a final message for someone if they choose. All messages will be relayed via the _Lockwood_."

Uhura felt a breath of air charge through her lungs roughly. God, she'd forgotten about her parents!

"We'll have exactly thirty minutes at the station - Scotty if you have anything you need, you better make that list now so we can give the guys on _Alpha 3_ some warning." There was an answering "Aye" from the Scotsman.

Kirk turned his gaze to the next person, "Chekov, I want you to look through the information _Lockwood_ sent through - figure out where that Romulan went. I want us to be able to hit the ground running when we get to the other side – you think you can do that?"

There was a silent terse nod.

"Sulu, divide your time between those two, I expect you to make sure those calibrations are done - I want her ready to go so put her through her paces, you hear?" He gave the helmsman a questioning look which was answered with a sharp nod and a small determined smile. Kirk paused, "Lieutenant Uhura."

She looked up, swallowing down her apprehensions. Now was not to time to plan the words she was going to say to her parents – dammit, if they didn't go, her parents were as good as dead if Nero decided to come after her younger self. "Yes sir?"

"Starfleet has ordered we set up a parameter of beacons to prevent ships from stumbling into the path of the singularity. I'll have Scotty send someone up. It needs to be in every language, on every frequency, that the whole entire Milanot sector is temporally unstable and very dangerous." Kirk gave her a small nod, "I'll leave at your discretion how much detail you want to include. I'd like that ready by our rendezvous."

"Yes sir." Uhura murmured, gripping her datapad tightly.

"Spock anything to add…? Okay, you're dismissed, people. I expect a report in three hours."

The meeting broke up silently, with none of the chatter that usually accompanied the break out of a long involved staff briefing. Sighing, she stood and followed Scotty and several other department chiefs in the turbolift.

"Give me an hour to get started." She said quietly.

Besides her, the Scotsman gave a distracted nod. "I'll be waiting for your comm."

* * *

_Location unknown, year 2245_

"We need to get outta here," James whispered as soon as they left the Romulan vessel's bridge after their third visitation.

Spock agreed. He did not enjoy the prospect of remaining here till such time that the Romulan decided to release them, if he were understand the implications of their conversation correctly. But he did not condone unwise actions.

James had bitten their guard's hand and grabbed his hand, pulling him into making an unplanned attempt to escape. They were in a foreign place and greatly outnumber - it was only logical that it should end badly. They had been promptly recaptured minutes later, with James being knocked unconscious as he'd been unable to stop kicking and biting.

They were now in their permanent accommodations, an empty set of squalid quarters with a large cot meant for one adult Romulan. There was food on the table; what appeared to be a cooked stew and a thin greasy broth. Though he was hungry, Spock sat by the human boy's side and stroked him on the head softly, like Mother did when he was ill – ad hoc treatment for any illness at best, but then they had little options.

He tried to remember as much as he could about human physiology, and the actions Mother performed when she tended to him as she would a human child. In the light, he could see the human boy's paleness, his light skeletal frame and what appeared to be bruises and abrasions over one part of his face. His limited medical skills and knowledge of human biology concerned him. His own Vulcanoid physiology was far more familiar; Spock suspected that if he were to be injured, the close similarities between Romulans – or _Rihannsu_ , as the man insisted – and Vulcans would enable their kidnappers to heal him, but perhaps not a human.

James stirred. The human made sounds of pain and placed his hand over Spock's hand on his forehead. Spock removed his, carefully prying himself loose. The mental buzz was not unpleasant but Vulcans did not drawn reassurance from touch and their contact was bordering on the improper.

"There is food," He informed the boy as James sat up in a hurry only to lie back down loudly exclaiming his pain using words which he recognized as inappropriate expressions in the invective mode of several human languages.

Yes, Spock thought dryly, concurred.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Captain's quarters, year 2260_

The Captain and First Officer's cabins on Deck Five were almost identical, except for the sitting area hidden behind one of the wall panels, no doubt to be used as a more informal, private briefing room, or a more secretive one. It was being put to use right now, even though in the entire two years Jim had been on the _Enterprise_ , he'd never even set foot in here except to well, set foot in here. On the screen, Ambassador Spock regarded them both from one of the astrometric labs aboard the _Copernicus_ , looking even more grave than usual.

"I assume that you'll be staying."

The elder Vulcan gave a brief nod, "Yes Jim, the possibility of four versions of me in the same timeline really does seem a little narcissistic. I am sure the information I have provided and the extensive dossier from the _Department of Temporal Investigations_ will more than cover my absence."

Jim mustered up a grin despite his mood, and turned to his version of the half-Vulcan, "Well then - Spock, maybe we should be leaving you behind."

And he was only half-joking; the idea of Spock going back and dealing with a time when Vulcan was still around, his mother was alive, and his people were not an endangered species, made him a little uncomfortable and he really couldn't imagine what was going on in Spock's mind – a major head trip would be his best guess.

Spock gave him a long look that said his thoughts frankly – _no fucking way_. "I disagree, Captain. As I have said, the shared ancestry between Romulan and Vulcan will work to our advantage in the event of a need to board the _Narada_ , and I imagine that my younger self will be unable to assist you if you were to attempt to retrieve him from Vulcan. In fact," Spock tilted his head, a touch of that Vulcan dryness creeping into his voice, "He would most likely think you are mentally unbalanced, and have you incarcerated.'

The image of a young teenaged Spock, sneaking a Vulcan-nerve pinch in on him, was so hilarious he couldn't help a burst of laughter despite the circumstances. "Spock, I think you've spent too much time around me."

Spock raised an eyebrow, looking like he was going to say something back but with a glance to his counterpart, paused. Jim almost frowned in disappointment – it had to be interesting if it couldn't be said in front of the Ambassador. His First Officer stood, datapad in hand, face once more his usual expressionless visage, "Ambassador, if you'll excuse me, I must deliver this information to the crew."

Jim sighed. Spock was right, again. "Yeah, sorry to cut this short Ambassador, but duty calls."

"Of course. Jim," The figure on screen straightened, hand up in the traditional Vulcan salute, "Good luck."

_I have been and always shall be your friend…_

The echo settled like something warm in his gut. The screen went dark. Jim suddenly felt very sober.

Their orders were clear: go back in time, stop the _Narada_ from changing the past anymore than they already have, and then retire quietly if there's no way back. The Deparment of Temporal Investigations was having a fit, trying to decide if this chance to "correct" time was good or bad or just plain crazy. It was a mess alright. The DTI didn't even want them to head the mission but they were the only crew who had an angle to play with Nero, who'd gone up against the _Narada_ and survived, and who were fully versed on all the public and classified details of what went down at Vulcan, the attempt on Earth, and the aftermath resulting in the Milanot disturbance – it was an obvious choice.

The mission essentially sentenced all crew members on _the List_ (yes he'd capitalized it in his head) to a life of insignificance. Scotty and Chekov would be forced to watch as their younger selves receive fame and renown they should have had. All of them, standing back, letting their younger selves, the ones who belonged to that timeline, take on their rightful places. Of course that was just morbid – they could very well save the day and be on their way back to their time, though considering the stats Spock had been sprouting, it wasn't likely. Jim felt like sighing – one thing at a time, he thought firmly, let's not start planning the rest of his life and quiet retirement in the new time-stream before they'd even gotten there and completed their mission.

"Captain?" Spock gave him a quizzical look, one which said that he wanted to pick Jim's brain. He quirked a small grin; it was rather satisfying to know that Spock found him equally frustrating. Well good, let the guy simmer, Jim mused, troubled as other thoughts began to intrude, including the fact he had to write something or say something, make a vid recording, to explain to his mom about the disappearing act, especially when this was a week before their big reunion on _Deep Space 4_ … Jim frowned.

"You go ahead, Spock. I'll be up shortly."

With a curt nod, still perplexed, his First Officer left him.

Jim exhaled explosively and ran a hand through his hair. He needed a drink.

Walking swiftly to his private console, he punched in his command codes and unlocked it, "Computer, locate the Chief Medical Officer."

* * *

_Location unknown, year 2245_

"What are you doing?"

After James' ill-advised attempt to escape, they had remained secluded in their enforced accommodations for many days, visited twice by various Romulan crew members who stared at them as if they were biological specimens on display at a menagerie. Two standard weeks had passed, judging by the amount of times food had been delivered and the regular visits to the bridge so the Romulan could gaze upon them "as a reminder". As the days passed, even he felt compelled to pace about as James frequently did.

"We're in someone's quarters Spock. This isn't a proper brig." James was attempting to pry one of the wall panels loose,"'Quarters have computer terminals. You know, door access, information, logs. Gotta be one under all this…"

"Your intention is to modify and gain access to the ship's computer?"

They spoke often to pass the time and Spock found himself taken back by the breadth of James' knowledge – his companion had a sound grasp on the basics in topics ranging from transporters to advanced theoretical physics to current political events. He had been unaware that young humans tackled academic studies with such vigor; often he encountered the impression that they were immature and lacking in discipline, even mother thought so though she did not seem to disapprove of their behavior as much as view them with a kind of veiled bemusement. He had also learned of James' dissatisfaction with his brother's cooking, his dead dog and a number of other irrelevant personal details.

"Yeah. It'll be a total cake walk."

Spock remained silent, not understanding the exotic terminology. James mistook his silence for skepticism, and stopped what he was doing to glare at him.

"Oh _come on_ Spock! We been stuck here for weeks eating that – whatever-you-call-it."

It had been approximately two weeks, and the food had been a constant as well as visitations to the bridge, often together, sometimes alone. Spock found it difficult to quell his reactions to the taunts and physical provocations and it was obviously more than James could endure, leading the human returning after every single time in a collection of bruises and abrasions for misbehavior.

" _Tayleea Cheecha_ ," He offered, as that was the proper name given to dish by their guards.

"Yes – that! I mean honestly, who cooks meat and fruit together like that!"

He did not understand why James chose to fixate on the irrelevant. Spock would have thought that their mistreatment and the obvious physical abuse James had suffered would have been more distasteful to him that their food. It was a logical dish – as James required the protein found in meat and he was a vegetarian, who could easily pick out the large portions of fruit and vegetable in it.

"Look, I can do this, okay?" James gave him a disgruntled look, "It's not like they're a proper Romulan crew, at least they don't seem like they're part of the Romulan fleet. Did you notice how many doors we passed? And that big cavern with that rig thing? Not normal, not for a cruiser. Their security can't be that good if they don't even have a brig."

Yes, Spock had noticed. There had been a lot of quarters, as well as the large pieces of heavy machinery of unknown design sitting in largely empty areas of the ship. Everything was exposed, as if constantly being fixed or rearranged; not the smooth well-kept interiors of a functional warship. James' logic was sound.

"Besides, you don't honestly believe that guy do you?" James looked vaguely distressed, his voice taking on a mocking harsh tone, "That whole story he's got about coming from the future and getting us before we grow up and put a dent in his grand plans."

James was lying. Spock tilted his head, perplex as to the source of his insight. James firmly believed Nero's story, but he was denying it – how… _illogical_.

"Humanity has long believed in the possibility of time travel – even when the Vulcan Science Academy had stated it impossible – and you yourself are aware of the theories recently postulated by the Federation Academy of Sciences on the possibilities of harnessing –"

"Okay okay, _fine_!" James rolled his eyes, "But come on, if we go by what he says, he's gonna keep us locked up for another _twelve_ years! Spock, you're Vulcan, you're gonna be still alive until the end of next century – but that's _a tenth of my life_."

The intermingling of anguish and outrage on James' face was peculiar.

This was not a typical hostage situation – there would be no negotiation with Starfleet, the Vulcan High Council or indeed their parents. The most singular Romulan was planning on keeping them his prisoners. According to him, James Kirk would go on to become a decorated Starfleet Captain, with him as First Officer, aboard a starship named _Enterprise_.

('There isn't a starship named Enterprise,' James said sotto voce, 'Hasn't been one since last century. I know my Starfleet history, Spock, he's bullshitting or just plain crazy.')

Spock had never entertained the notion of joining Starfleet, which begged the question if one were to take Nero's story as the truth – what between now and his proposed entrance into the Vulcan Science Academy would prompt him to abandon a life planned for him since the day of his birth?

"What do you propose?"

James searched his face for something, and satisfied with what he observed, pointed at the panel he had been attempting to free earlier, "Lend me a hand with that."

* * *

After several hours of work, they had revealed what appeared to be a computer terminal. Between his recognition of the glyphs by comparing them to what little High Vulcan he knew and James' affinity for computers, they made good progress. Spock was impressed. Within 48 hours, they had successfully isolated the controls for their door, as well as access to the ship's database. It seemed they were on the mining ship _Narada_ , commissioned for service of the Romulan Star Empire in the year 2381, captained by Nero.

Nero, singular as he was, did not lie.

Spock had considered the possibility of this having a negative effect on James' mental and emotional health, but it seemed his concerns were unwarranted; James swiftly turned his attention to "breaking them out of this hellhole".

The onboard ships sensors had shown that they were in the level just above the ships main deck. Without weapons or cover due to the large cavernous nature of the ship, any attempt to leave would only result in their swift recapture.

"We got to try, Spock." James was determined, and rather persuasive, even if his arguments were emotionally invested, "Twelve years, Spock, if we sat around like he wants us to, it's going to be _twelve years_. I want to go home, Spock, preferably while it's still there."

Thus, approximately one standard hour after their evening meal was delivered, they left their quarters.

* * *

James licked his lips nervously, and peered over the console at the long gangway leading to the part of the ship where escape pods were kept. They had to get onto one and eject themselves within the hour if they wanted to be within burn distance of a habitable system. He turned when Spock joined him and gestured to the direction where the doorway was.

"There, you see that?"

Spock laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Shh…"

James froze, wondering what Spock heard. He swallowed dryly and wondered if his heart was beating too loudly. This was kind of insane. Back in their room, it had seemed pretty easy. Open the door, down one deck, cross the secondary deck, and then they were on their sweet way off this junk. Now in the darkness, his nerves were giving out on him and the low lighting didn't help. Everything was creepy.

He eyed Spock, who was looking even more rigid than usual. "What's wrong?" He whispered.

The Vulcan boy tilted his head to the left, "There is someone descending from the upper deck."

Shit. He felt a wave of nausea. God he hasn't been this nervous since that time he was waiting for his mom to pick him up from the police station after crashing dad's car. Good times, he thought wryly, and quickly waved that memory away. Now was not the time.

"Are they coming here? What are they doing? Spock? _Spock_!"

The Vulcan gave him a cool look, "We remain undiscovered…"

He exhaled in relief, "Great."

"… However they are on the main deck and their trajectory will place them directly above us."

His stomach lurched. He looked up and quickly ducked lower, grabbing Spock and dragging him down as well. And that's what he heard it. The slow rumbling footsteps of the Romulans, who tended to take their time and scuff their heels. Not good, especially if their sense of smell was as good as what Spock has.

"I estimate that the likelihood of us being caught is 93.89%," Spock whispered against his ear.

He squeezed Spock's forearm between his hands, "Shut. Up."

* * *

The punishment was old-fashioned – "flogging" which the Romulans apparently had in common with Earth humans. Spock had taken his two quick and brutal lacerations in shocked silence, shaken by the painful sensation of having his flesh flailed. It was only through meditation during and after the experience, and his ability to switch off pain receptors that he managed to endure. James had admitted to being the initiator of their escape, and had been sentenced to separate punishment - Nero's declaration that it would be twice as much of what Spock had endured troubled him. Humans usually didn't meditate, nor did they have conscious control over their bodily functions as he did - frankly, he feared for James' well being.

Spock was glad to have not been present for his companion's punishment – the smell of James' blood when their Romulan captors had returned him was revolting enough that he would have embarrassed himself if he had been there. He didn't know how a human withstood it; they were supposed to be weak creatures, prone to running out of breath, with soft bones and weak musculature. It was clear: attempted escape had terrible consequences - Spock didn't relish testing their captors again, but if they did... Spock contemplated the sensation of a cool human body shivering against his leg in torment, the smell of the blood, and felt a shudder of revulsion go through him. If there was a next time, he would insist upon taking the blame and spare James.

There had been a fresh batch of medical supplies waiting for them, and Spock had washed his companion's wounds and bandaged them to the best of his limited abilities. Besides expressing his distress at the physical discomfort and crying a little, James seemed otherwise unaffected except for being excessively fatigued, and less responsive. By the time they were both able-bodied to help each other, days had passed.

"I miss my mom. I'm sorry… that I argued with her the last time – if I'd know this would be happening, well… well, I'd probably still have argued with her, but I probably would have hugged her before she left you know, instead of avoiding her and all…"

He recognized the tones of James' voice – it was regret. The boy continued: "…So yeah, I was kind of a shit… I'm me you know, but still, I would have hugged her, if I could go back. Hey Spock, if you had a chance to go back and do things over, what would you do?"

Spock leaned into the gentle sting of the bandages dipped in antiseptic with his chin tucked between his knees; the wounds on his back had begun to cover over, but were tender even though he had received them days ago.

"I don't see the point in theoretical –"

"Just answer the damn question." He could almost feel James rolling his eyes in the dark.

_Very well…_

Spock felt those words on the tip of his tongue; he was starting to appreciate why his father used them so often in conjunction with mother's presence.

"If I were able to go back in time, to bid Mother farewell, I would –" _L_ _augh at her jokes, let her teach me to dance, ask her all the questions he had regarding human emotionalism that Father did not approve of_ … "-attend to her in her wet-planet observatory… and harvest roses."

In the darkness, he heard James laugh, "Spock! No way! You wanna go pick flowers?"

"Roses are not native to Vulcan and scientists at the VSA wet-planet observatory –"

There was a disbelieving laugh and then a push at the back of his head, surprising him enough that his head was forced forwards by fifteen degrees.

"Yeah, yeah, save it! I'm going to sleep, wake me when they're back."

He had expected James to be more upset regarding their recapture. It seemed he was wrong – again. _Fascinating_. Pulling his robes back over his head, he moved back under the cloth they used for warmth and meditated.

* * *

They had been captured after crossing the gangway on the secondary deck this time.

"Well, at least it's further than we got last time." James smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I love the boys. They got spunk.


	4. Chapter 4

_USS Enterprise, Deck Ten, year 2260_

Admiral Barnett's sign off on the personal communiqué jarred him badly, though he wasn't entirely sure why. The Admiral had always been a pain in the ass – oh it was always respectful ribbing, but it still annoyed the shit out of him. Deep down Jim knew that if Admiral Barnett was harder on him than usual, it was because the man had higher expectations of him. No, what disturbed Jim was that Admiral Barnett hadn't been himself; if the man had been himself, it would have ended with "Don't screw up, Kirk, or I'll bust you down to Ensign" or "I'm watching you, boy" or his personal favorite "I have Doctor McCoy's number, rascal, don't make me use it" but this time –this time…  
 _  
You have my word, Jimmy, good luck._..

Jim wondered if he did the right thing, asking Admiral Barnett to tell his mom about the mission, explain why he won't be on Deep Space 4 for New Year's Eve in a few weeks, and basically wimping out on sending a message. The man had been mom's commander at her first post, and had kept an eye on him. Barnett had been annoyed by the Kobayashi Maru fiasco. Of course, post- _Narada_ , the man had also fought for Jim to be taken off academic probation, for his shot at the captaincy, and wrangled with other admirals to be the one to present him that medal. Jim appreciated it – at least he knew that the man wasn't doing it for the good publicity of standing next to 'James Kirk, hero.'

Which brought him here, heading off to dinner with a weight hanging over him; frankly the chummy sign-off made Jim feel like he was never coming back. Jim shuddered and mentally shook it off. No, thinking like that helped no one.

Passing through the Rec Area, he noticed there were a lot of people around, more than usual. Despite the usual eating, drinking, games of poker and chess and whatever else was going on, there was an unspoken tension in the air. Conversations were few, and quieter than normal, with small groups of threes or fours scattered around at the outer perimeters. Most were cheerful, but some didn't even try to hide their anxiety. Jim supposed this was to be expected; their arrival at _Starbase Alpha 3_ was scheduled to be in four hours time, where one in three would disembark. Some of the crew manning crucial posts were being replaced by volunteers from other ships, but many of the departing crew were leaving behind an empty spot in the rosters. He forced himself to walk past the entrance to the main Rec, keeping his expression neutral and let himself into the Officer's Lounge. Jim could think of a hundred other places he'd rather be than here, having a mock-up of a formal dinner with the other commanding officers but Bones' powers extended even this far – the Rec department reported to the CMO.

"Ah, you finally made it, captain," said Scotty, beaming from the end of the table, mid-sip of his scotch. Jim could tell that he'd interrupted something; the last remark he'd caught coming through the door had been that ' _a real man drinks Scotch…_ '

Bones took a breather from the chick drumstick he was working on, "About time, Jim – you're late."

"You forget, Bones: I'm the captain – I'm never late." Jim grinned at the irate eyebrow leveled in his direction and picked up the doctor's toc of Yadalla ale as he passed, draining it in one gulp without the slightest guilt. He didn't want to be here and he wasn't going to hide that, but if he could piss Bones off then hooray to him. It went down bitter and heavy. Going red from the intensity of the ale, he barked a cough, almost doubling over when it hit his upper stomach in a painful burn. Jim nodded frantic thanks as a glass of water was handed to him. That was the nice thing about Spock, he mused between hurried gulps, always on duty.

"For a doctor you sure like your poisons," He choked out.

Bones gave him a smug look, and gestured with his knife at Jim's plate. "Eat your food, Jim, before it gets cold."

At that his stomach growled and painfully reminded Jim that the last time he had a meal was a sandwich smuggled out of the kitchens. Bones jabbed at him with the knife, and waited with a look of mock patience. To shut the man up, Jim quickly sat at his place round the table and picked up a strip of meat, jamming it into his mouth and chewing enthusiastically with a broad grin. With one final disgruntled _hmph_ , the doctor went back to chatting with their chief engineer about exotic liquors.

Jim glanced at Spock, who was neatly cutting up what appeared to be some kind vegetarian rissole. "So…" He exhaled, "How is our pet project going?"

"On schedule," was Spock's succinct reply.

"Great. How many of them can we make?" Jim neatly skewered a piece of what looked like purple broccoli and examined it suspiciously; he didn't know what he did to get on Bones' bad side that his food was turning out like this.

"Captain..." Spock murmured, giving him what passed for a pained look, "Jim… I believe Doctor McCoy will be displeased if we discuss ship matters."

"And you're suddenly listening to him?" Taking a cautious bite of the purple broccoli, Jim chewed slowly before grabbing his napkin and discretely spitting it out. _OH heck no_ – it tasted like stewed cabbage with Tabasco sauce and really sharp smelly cheese. Glancing around, he noticed that Spock had it on his plate as well – where it had been pulverized and ignored. _Ah… right…_

Spock poured him a glass of lemonade. "This will help."

Jim took a deep drink and felt the foul taste/texture drain away under the sharp sweetness of the drink. Neatly scraping the foul alien vegetables to the side, he put down his cutlery and picked up one of the strips of chicken; nothing he couldn't recognize for him tonight… "Spock, next time some warning would be nice."

"I wasn't certain that you would also be adverse to the food." Spock murmured, before putting down his utensils to check his PADD which began to flash insistently.

Jim craned his neck for a better look, curious. The chicken was not bad, he thought as he chewed in a hurry, wanting to get the meal over and done with as soon as possible. "What's happening?"

"Officers Morgan and Kipst'zn have been assisting me with replicating the cloak technology on a small scale as you recommended…" Spock said distractedly, "It appears… that your suggestion of a tuning algorithm program to maintain consistent shield integrity has been successful in simulations. Additionally, we will be able to fit twenty remote detonators and ten warheads with the modified cloaking devices."

"Yeah?" Jim ate another strip of fried chicken, licking his fingers. "How would you scrounge up the material? The stuff _Alpha 3_ is giving us isn't nearly enough for all that." He frowned since originally Spock had been adamant they didn't have enough tretonium, heavy base metals, or silicon to build the tetryon compositors or the old-fashioned missiles he'd suggested against the _Narada_ 's unique ship structure.

Spock gave him a odd look. "I was able to… its..."

Jim swore the man was almost guilty.

"Furniture, captain; all unassigned personnel quarters are being cleared as we speak."

Jim blinked, shocked. Spock was scraping all the bunks and chairs and tables in empty quarters? He didn't know if he should laugh that Spock truly had been spending way too much time with him or if he should be freaking out about how final that seemed – that those crew members leaving were not going to resuming their posts for the foreseeable future. Jim nodded slowly, holding Spock's gaze. The mini-cloaks and the missiles would improve their chances, and he supposed... he supposed they could always refit the quarters.

* * *

_The Narada: location unknown, year 2246_

Spock opened his eyes to overwhelming darkness, the last light cube having long since run out of power. Someone was coming. He shifted, intending to stand when a weight over his legs made him look down. Of course, James; Spock shook the boy by the shoulder gently, rousing him. Just like before, the large heavily-bearded Romulan guard who appeared to be assigned to them dropped down in the cell, a rope ladder was let down and they were taken through the underbelly of the ship to the bridge.

"Captain Nero. They're here." A slender Romulan with austere features gave them a cool glance from behind a console he was monitoring.

The Romulan Nero turned in his chair to face them. He looked solemn, chin propped on his knuckles, resembling much like the replication of Auguste Rodin's _The Thinker_ in the foyer at the Xenoculture Museum on Vulcan. Behind him on the viewscreen was a celestial body shadowed by a much larger planetary body, in a dark shade of ochre.

Spock recognized the planet with a shock. It was Vulcan, it was _home_.

"I've decided to punish you," Nero said.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Deck Ten: Rec Area, year 2260_

Uhura wandered through the corridor on her way to the Mess, disquieted by the lack of personnel. It was evening meal time and as such, it should have been crowded this close to the public areas. They had thinned the crew down to basic numbers needed to maintain battle stations and redundancies. Many of the crew had beamed off-board in what was more or less a full-scale emergency evacuation. They were now right alongside the singularity waiting for the _DTI_ officers on board the _Copernicus_ to give them the go-ahead. She had immediately been dismissed from duty after translating the messages for the warning beacons and had been since resting in her quarters. Despite sleeping all day, she didn't feel rested, preoccupied with the short and woefully inadequate clip she had recorded for her parents.

Suddenly all the lights along the deck corridor flickered. Uhura steadied herself against a wall, and looked up in surprise. Something was happening, and it was happening without her. Cursing under her breath, she turned and ran back in the direction of the turbolift. She needed to get back to the Bridge. The red alert klaxon started to wail.

_"Attention crew of the Enterprise, we've been given the go-ahead by the Copernicus! All hands, brace for impact!"_

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

Spock woke, disorientated by the intense light. Pushing himself off the ground, he brushed the sand from his face, shocked at the texture. He realized that he was naked, except for undergarments and a large rough cloth wrapped around him. In the sky, the scorching sun had already risen. His hand flew to his throat – the subcutaneous tracker was barely noticeable, only a small painless lump under the skin.

"I think my escape plan worked too well..."

Spock turned, startled by the soft voice.

James shielded his eyes from the sun and waved tiredly, perched on a large rock. He was missing his usual garments as well and wrapped in the same rough cloth, albeit modified and draped around him to look like a robe.

"Yeah, I'm here... so this is Vulcan... huh? Nice place..."

The rugged wilderness stretched in every direction, the uneven terrain barren except for hidden pockets of vegetation taking shelter from the harsh sun around rock formations. There was no sign of civilization as far as the eyes could see.

"Hey," James breathed weakly, "Think we can get out of the…"

Spock looked on in alarm as James' eyes rolled up in his head and he fell. Discarding dignity, Spock dashed forwards just in time to catch him, preventing his head from knocking against a nearby rock. In the stillness that followed, Spock could feel his heart, beating hard and erratic against the human boy's hip. James opened his mouth, lips pale and gasped for air.

"Do not try to speak." He murmured, reminded of the words he had heard so many times from father or father's aides, as they tended human visitors who had collapsed in their presence, having arrogantly or ignorantly dismissed warnings for them to take tri-ox while planetside. "You are unused to the atmosphere and gravity of Vulcan."

It was foolish for James to waste energy climbing up onto the rock in the first place, but Spock forcibly put aside his frustration and reminded himself that he should be focused on ensuring that his human friend did not suffocate. He held James and slowly, after several minutes, a little color came back into the boy's face. Spock settled James against a boulder rock, and satisfied that the human would not asphyxiate, quickly collected his piece of rough cloth and draped it around his form as a makeshift desert robe.

Finally, James sat up. "Spock," He rasped, "The sun… too strong… I can't…"

He hoisted the boy up by slinging one arm over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around the waist, quickly walking around the rock formation and into the shadows of a cliff which hung over them curved like a suspended ocean in the midst of a rage. Under any other circumstances he would have admired them, but for the moment, they seemed ominous, hanging over them like an animal's claw.

Spock laid James down and though he wished to stand guard, he forced himself to scout the surrounding areas for any plant or vegetation to provide moisture. He suspected that James was already dehydrated, for as a native from a water-based planet, James' basic biology was in his opinion excessively dependent on water. Unfortunately, Spock thought darkly, he could not tell James to stop being human. His companion began once again to breathe heavily, eyes unfocused as his hand reached reflexively for his throat.

"Breathe." He said loudly, not sure if James could hear him or indeed comprehended all that he was saying, "Breathe slowly and steadily. Focus on it."

Suddenly his eyes were drawn to something shining in the distance to his right, less than thirty spans away. He recognized the item as a medical satchel, slightly larger than the usual they received during their times of confinement in the dark cell. Ignoring his physical discomfort at being barefoot and inadequately covered, Spock scrambled over several boulders, ignoring the fleeting burn under his soles and retrieved the satchel.

The contents scattered over the orange dirt ground, his hands trembling as he sorted them in his usual efficiency. Water, basic nutrients, more water, bandages, antiseptic, a small blade, a very basic tricorder – Spock stared at them blankly. No. They couldn't. _They didn't._ Nero needed them alive! Not a single hypospray or vial of tri-ox compound. It took every bit of discipline and sense of propriety in him to rein in his distress. Even mother, with her many years upon the planet, well-adapted to Vulcan conditions required the occasional treatment – but someone _weakened_ by inadequate nutrition and physical abuse… Spock glanced to his companion.

Lying underneath the jutting sharp edge of the smooth rock surface reaching into the sky, James Kirk's mouth moved silently to form words, his eyes staring at Spock like beacons of blue light. Spock curled his arm around the boy's shoulders, bringing him up so he could give him a sip of water.

"Drink," He said harshly, almost shaking James to keep him coherent, " _Drink_!"

But what James really needed was air, not water.

A sense of being overwhelmed flooded him, leaving him uncertain and weak. He put the water down and touched his friend's throat, wishing that he could indeed gift James with even a third of his lung capacity.

"You will be light-headed, nauseous, and fatigued – please, don't exert yourself. There is something similar to the Terran aloe plant which grows abundant among rock formations – they're nutritious and assist hydration. Lie here while I'll find some." His words were uncharacteristically rushed, his voice thick with some strange tone. Spock laid James down and pulled the cloth around him more securely, covering his face as one might a newborn.

"There is radiation, dust and other elements in the atmosphere not present upon Earth, which could be harmful to you.' He told James firmly, 'Keep your face covered –especially your eyes."

The image of his mother's eyes, red from a primitive human condition – _conjunctivitis_ – flashed through his mind in graphic detail. She had bore it with grace, completely veiling herself for any outdoors engagement for the days while she suffered from the condition and all due to the lack of a nictitating membrane in her eyes. Spock ran a hand across his eyes and closed his inner eyelids.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, time unknown_

Jim grabbed the armrest of the central chair and pulled himself up off the floor, coughing from the smoke and exhaust choking up the air. One of the Operations officers welded a fire extinguisher and there was more than one crew down from the impact of passing through the singularity. Everything was bathed in red and orange lights, the klaxon still ringing in the background.

"Someone turn that thing off!" The klaxon died unexpectedly mid-ring, "Damage report!"

"Shields at 53%; medical emergencies on decks seven through to thirteen, as well as Engineering; hull integrity is holding; long-range sensors offline, weapons system functioning and at your order, captain."

He pulled himself into his chair with a grunt, feeling woozy – oh, he hadn't felt this bad since having all those shots on that planet with the overgrown teddy bears. He touched his forehead, trying to dispel the fog over his thoughts. "Time, date! What's the stardate! Did we make it?"

"- we have confirmed casualties on deck ten!"

"More reports coming in sir! Engineering reports loss of coolant in sections 4D and 5A!"

The turbolift door shuddered opened, admitting a disheveled Uhura who charged onto the bridge and came to an abrupt stop, visibly startled by the carnage. Right behind her came Bones with a full medical team, who efficiently panned out along the Bridge perimeter and attended to the crew. Jim attempted to wave away the nurse holding a medical tricorder in his face.

"Evacuate and seal off the contaminated areas! Get Security to do it if you have to – I want damage control, now! Emergency protocols Sigma-Nine-Alpha for all able crew members and immediate – I'm fine, _I'm fine_ , only a bruised ego from falling outta my chair." He snapped at the nurse, frowning as she persisted, " _Oh for_ – someone find out the damn year!"

Bones glared at him and took over from the nurse, cursing under his breath about belligerent command officers and their disrespect for procedure and personal safety. Jim didn't spare the CMO a grin for his usual heartwarming repertoire.

Chekov turned with a grim look on his face, "From astrometric readings, we are approximately fourteen years and three month in the past, sir – estimated Stardate… 2246.01…"

Dammit. This was almost six months after the official disappearance of the _USS Umpqua_. Six months that Nero had on them. God, who knows what he had managed to do in that time…

"Captain," Spock said, turning from his station, "I am detecting minute traces of the _USS Umpqua_ 's distinct engine signature and there is no presence of _USS Lockwood_ or _Copernicus_. Unfortunately the muon trail of the escape pod is too dispersed for a precise lock – I have provided what data I have to Ensign Chekov."

"Aye sir…" Chekov muttered, hands flying across his console, "Am calculating trajectory now…"

He gave Spock a nod and a quick sly smile. _See Spock, told you it'll be fine…_

"Captain."

Jim turned, "What is it, Uhura?"

"Subspace chatter places us at Stardate 2246.01.02, sir – we also have incoming, two commercial freighters and a Vulcan science vessel."

He wanted to laugh till he cried. The James T. Kirk of this time was just barely thirteen years old, a little kid – he was probably still grounded for the car thing even though that was like over a year ago, and Frank – he swallowed thickly – was probably still busting shit up, killing his liver and boxing Sam and him around the ears. Last night's two shots weren't nearly enough. He glanced at Chekov, who had a bleeding cut on his forehead – Chekov would only be four!

"Sulu, evasive maneuvers until we know where we're going. Spock?" He caught the Vulcan's eye and gave the man a humorless smile, "Let's try out that cloaking device and violate some treaties."

Spock inclined his head and handed over his station to his relief, already heading for the turbolift. Jim stood and followed, ignoring Bones who sputtered at him to come back here.

Inside the lift, he hit the intercom button. "Kirk to Engineering. Scotty, my man, tell me the good news."

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

Spock woke, startled at the cool flesh pressed against his shoulder. Sometime during the night, James had thrown an arm around him and moved progressively closer till he was sleeping pressed against Spock's side, forehead wedged against his shoulder. Raising his head slightly, Spock attempted to remove himself from this uncomfortable arrangement but James only tightened his grip, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath. Frowning, he realize the grit underneath his back was still faintly warm but the loose dry mix of sand and dirt around him had gone cold – it was little wonder that James had sought him out.

He rested his hand carefully atop James' head, shifted into a more comfortable position and looked up at the night sky. The stars sprinkled across the darkness with no particular pattern or goal. He had never viewed them from this part of the planet before, and was surprised by their brilliance. Mother always thought them beautiful, often commenting on them seated on their wide stone terrace. At the thought of her, Spock felt an awful yearning inside – she was so close and yet so far away; they were on the same planet and yet, she did not know he was here.

They had been here for days, wandering the harshness and struggling to survive. With no supply of tri-ox compound, James was weak, able to only walk slowly for at best two, three hours before needing to rest, even though they were not at a particular high altitude. Without medical assistance and more supplies, they could not hope to cover the distance needed to reach any populated areas or even a science outpost. Spock was certain this was what Nero wanted – they were no longer on the ship to cause trouble and yet, here in the middle of the deep Vulcan desert, they were as trapped as they had been in their dark cell.

He supposed he should be grateful that Nero had at least beamed them to a fairly benign if desolate stretch of desert. The first three days, he had rested little except during midday when the heat was at its worst, keeping alert for predators well into the night, till it became apparent that there were none. The only fauna he had discovered was a fairly common lizard and a few species of native birds that occasionally passed by overhead. The worst that could happen to them was injury, or that Nero would reconsider his need of them alive, not activate the trackers he had injected them with and leave them here to die.

Uncertainty rose in him at the thought, but he dismissed it abruptly. Death was not an option. Most beings in the known galaxy could only ever dare to know as much about the future as he did, to know that his life had mattered, his actions had reverberated across time and space to touch thousands of billions of lives. He had to live, and James had to live; they would take their rightful places. They were supposed to fly across the stars, in a ship called _Enterprise_. He had been taught how to survive in the desert in preparation for his _kahs-wan_ , and he was neither physically nor mentally incapacitated. Survival was possible, even with James as an additional burden.

Father would no doubt remind him now that it was illogical to believe in such things as predestined fate, and that whatever he or James may have been was another life now; that Nero's very presence had altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the _USS Kelvin_ , culminating in the events of their kidnapping, thereby creating an entirely new chain of incidents that could not be anticipated by either party. Yes, Spock thought, that was logical. Nevertheless, he now had access to a new perspective on the path his life could take, and his destiny was his decision alone, not even father denied that.

James lifted his head to blink myopically in the dark, "Spock...? Is it... is it morning?"

"No," He said softly, "Rest."

James' dirty hand came up and patted him softly on the face, giving him a sleepy affirmation as he settled down by shifting closer, turning his head till he had found the most comfortable angle against Spock's shoulder. Spock felt a flare of something small and warm in his gut, spreading till it enveloped his whole body. He glanced at the crown of James' dirty hair and felt a sense of wonder - was this serotonin and dopamine taking effect from prolonged physical touch? His physiology was primarily Vulcan but then, there were differences; Spock wondered if this was one of them. To test his hypothesis, he ran his hand down the length of James' back.

He trembled at the sensation. Oh. _Ohhhhh…_

Spock stared at his hand. _Fascinating_.


	5. Chapter 5

_Planetside: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

Spock dropped the satchel and knelt in the dirt. He examined the damaged appendage and carefully pressed his fingers into the flesh. The foot twitched and twisted in his grasp.

"Ow, ow, _ow_! Spock, what the _hell_ …?" James' voice shot up an octave.

"Your ankle is sprained, James, you should not move it."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Hurts like hell." The Human squeezed his eyes shut, a pained grimace crossing his face. He was breathing heavily, sweat on his forehead; there were several scrapes dotted with red blood along his arms where the material of his makeshift robes had torn during the fall. The wounds looked rather gruesome, embedded with pebbly brown sand and orange dust.

Spock looked around them. They were in a deep crevasse, possible exits being an arduous climb or a trek till the fissure opened onto a muddy riverbed a few hundred meters away. Though it was unfortunate James couldn't walk for a time, they were at least shielded from the midday heat. The conditions were damp and cool in the shadows at the bottom of the crevasse, which meant that it was probably quite comfortable for Humans. It was a good place to settle, and the presence of the muddy riverbed suggested that there was an underground water source.

Taking out the bandages and sterilizing solution, he began to clean the wounds and was so focused on his task that he was startled by James touching his shoulder.

"Spock, your hand –"

He followed James' gaze to his left hand. Abrasions ran down his fingers and his nails were broken and chipped, his blood a dark gloomy green. He felt a sense of disorientation. It was odd, looking at his fingers – he knew logically he should feel pain, and yet he had been completely unaware that in his haste to follow James down, he had inadvertently injured himself.

"- Spock, _Spock_?"

His head snapped up to look at James, who was panting from the exertion of speech and staring at him in concern. "I apologize… I was… I was…" Spock stared mesmerized at his hand, at the grit encrusted along the wounds, "I was…"

"You were zoning out." James searched his face, "Spock, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," He breathed, "I am fine, just-" Spock blinked at his left hand, unable to stop looking, feeling the beginnings of pain seep through the mental haze he seemed to be in. Sensation returned with a swift sharpness, sending agony through his nerves. Spock was unable to stop a choked rasp of pain.

Standing, James grasped him by the arms and pulled him out of the patch of sun lighting up the crevasse, and nudged him to sit down upon the rocks. "Shit, Spock! Sit down and take a breather - you look like you're going to fall over – ah!" James cried, pushing firmly when Spock made to stand. He gently took the Vulcan's injured left hand. "Look, it isn't that I'm not appreciating it and all, but seriously, _you_ sit around for a change."

Spock opened his mouth to complain - there was still blood oozing from one of James' cuts.

"Don't." James murmured, blue eyes clear as he gently and slowly cleaned the damaged digits. The sting of the antiseptic made his fingers twitch in distress. "You're exhausted, Spock, just take the day off – besides I'm not completely hopeless you know."

"That was not my meaning," He panted raggedly, eyes rolling shut - the pain was too much for him to control his reactions entirely. James' touch on his hand grew softer, responding to his pain. He opened his eyes and regarded the other boy, grateful for the care being shown.

"Sure you did," Jim murmured, distracted as he dislodged a small sharp pebble, "You act like every other thing is going to kill me."

His companion's spirit was strong, Spock was even tempted to describe the human as 'indomitable' but James struggled with even the relatively small distance they trekked within a day. Based on this, he couldn't imagine that James would be strong enough to locate and collect water, or search out the desert plants Spock had been supplementing into his ration; the Romulans had packed enough rations to feed them for two weeks; they were past the second week, and through prudent planning, he had managed to save at least half of their rations.

James dragged the satchel closer, took out the bandages and sucked in a deep heavy breath. A bird of prey broke the monotony of the blazing sky, casting a fleeting shadow as it briefly covered the opening of the crevice.

"I wanna eat chicken. Bet you I can get one of those birds." James said, squinting upwards at the clear, bright desert sky stretching overhead through the tunnel above their heads. His hands busied themselves with bandaging Spock's injured hand. "They're not endangered or sacred or anything, are they?"

"No, they are not." Spock found the idea of James hunting and eating an animal slightly repulsive, though he knew it was only logical – the physical body did have its nutritional requirements. "James, we have no weapons."

The other boy cupped a hand over his eyes and craned his neck to the right, looking at something Spock couldn't see. "Yeah well, we can make a sling shot – plenty of rocks and stuff, so it's not like we'll be short of ammo. I saw it once, in a movie." The other boy suddenly winced and rubbed at his eyes, which began to leak moisture.

Gently, Spock smoothed the cloth on James' head down over his brows, and then tugged it so it touched the other boy's eyelids. Though he was shot a surly look and his hand knocked away with a sharp whack, James pulled the cloth out from his forehead and draped it to cover his face as Spock had shown him.

"I feel stupid." James muttered darkly, tugging at the cloth hanging over his face and flapping it up and down. "It's like I'm playing peek-a-boo or something. I just got something in my eye – it happens you know, and not just because I'm on Vulcan. I can do it, Spock."

Spock knew that the human was lying about his true physical state, but then, he was also lying to James about his true physical state. It seemed like the logical thing to do – after all, even if he were to share his concerns, James was hardly in a position to alleviate them. He was determined to make sure that James did survive this ordeal – the loss of that sharp intelligence and strength of spirit seemed… grievous, wasteful. "It isn't the same thing."

"What? Don't you think I can?" James said sharply.

No, he didn't. Even with help, James struggled whenever they walked up inclines, his gasping breaths harsh and painful sounding as he stumbled, each step wavering. Of course the other boy never gave up either.

"Be realistic, James, you are susceptible to anoxia…" The idea of James hurt or delirious or dying … "It serves no logical purpose for you to risk yourself."

"But you're -"

Spock felt a wave of ire rise in him. "You could die," he snapped.

At that James fell silent.

Mortification swept over him as the anger ebbed away. Swallowing dryly, Spock looked to the cavern walls. He had not reacted like that in a long time, perhaps since his days at the creche. With a glance upwards, Spock stood and gestured towards a cavern opening deforming one side of the crevice, providing a dark shadowed area, "We should rest here until midday passes."

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246_

The amber lights for yellow alert were still flickering along the corridors and down the walls, but thankfully someone had switched off the grinding ship-wide alert after the first hour (thank you Chekov and Scotty). Jim gazed out at the star fields on the main viewscreen. They had passed the Romulan-edge of the Neutral Zone about thirty minutes ago and were in deep Romulan space. A shiver went down his back. It was a good thing they were cloaked with that fancy upgrade the elder Spock provided ( _cheating again huh? As you humans like to say, Jim – well he started it_ ) because the last thing they needed was get into a fight and start a war. Silence dominated on the Bridge, and before the last few days, Jim had never realized how much noise the consoles made.

"Captain, I'm picking up transmission chatter."

Everyone on the Bridge jumped at the sudden announcement. Jim spun to face the Operations terminal, straightening ever so slightly in the command chair. "What is it? Romulan? Klingon?"

The brunette frowned, hand poised on her earpiece, sharing looks with Uhura. In the terse silence, there was a sudden beep from the command chair console, startling him; it was just the standard hourly Engineering update.

"Romulan, encoding _Setha-ki-tru-mille_ , definitely military," Uhura said flatly, "It's the _Narada_ , sir. It's been seen. Based on the chatter, the ships have been stationed here as a precaution for some reason."

"Confirmed, Captain - five Romulan birds-of-prey on the far side of the Trianguli-B system."

Oh well, that was just great. This was just what he needed; the _Narada_ handing over weapons specs and who knows what else that shouldn't be developed for another century or so. "Did they come into contact with each other? Do they know? Is the _Narada_ still in the vicinity?" There was no response, " _Lieutenant_ – was there _any_ contact?"

Uhura's brows furrowed as she concentrated. There was a moment of tense silence and finally, she turned to him with a small smile, "No sir. They are unaware of the ship's origins. The _Narada_ has been listed as an unknown, possibly hostile and…" She trailed off.

"Romulan escape pod trajectory places the warp exit here, sir," said Chekov.

Spock looked up from his station, "Muon particle scan shows positive."

"Sir, long range sensor readings show no detectable sign of the _Narada_ but there is -"

"Captain, we're detecting -"

Jim resisted the urge to throw up his hand – why did everyone insist on speaking at once? Of course Nero wasn't around, he'd expected that since the escape pod had come out this way six months ago but he had to exhaust all the possibilities, survey any possible damage that the deranged Romulan may have left in his wake.

Jim looked up as Spock moved to stand next to his chair, voice lowered, "Captain, scans of _Narada_ 's distinctive muon trail shows that it headed on a trajectory which should bring it deep within Federation space, towards the sector near Vulcan and Earth.'

_Crap._

Uhura whirled around. "Romulans confirm that the _Narada_ headed for Federation space."

"Telemetry is picking up the existence of what appears to be a large mining operation on the nearby."

"Judging by chatter, the _Narada_ was sighted several times until approximately three months before, sir – the Romulan's stationed here are to protect the dilithium from possible theft." Uhura's eyes focused on his, "They're jumpy, sir – they're leaning to the theory that the _Narada_ was a Federation vessel."

 _Dammit_. He could only think of one reason why Nero would head in that direction. He exchanged glances with Spock, who stared back blankly, nuances shifting across his visage. He gave the man a terse look; it seemed like they'd have to fall back on _Plan C_. Mentally, Jim sighed: why couldn't things just be simple? See bad guy, shoot bad guy, get medal and go home.

"Orders sir?" Sulu asked, spinning around at the helm.

He glanced around the Bridge at the apprehensive faces. _If we manage to finish this mission, I'm going to have to remember about booting the crew back into class and have them learn how to speak in turn…_ Jim felt a small grim smile touch his lips; if Spock could hear his thoughts, he'd be accused of levity unbecoming for a captain... Bones would just smack him and yell at him to take this seriously, dammit.

"Helm, set a course for Earth, Sulu you have the conn." He turned on his heel and met Spock's steady gaze. He nodded to the turbolift. "Walk with me."

* * *

_Planetside: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

Spock woke up slowly, dizzy and not entirely sure where he was. The ground was soft but unyielding beneath him and he felt terrible. With a gasp, he sat up in the small ditch he had dug for warmth, jolted out of his drowsy state; what little sky he could see was no longer the bright clear lavender shade he remembered but an inky dark blue. Sundown, he noted with foreboding – had he been asleep that long? He never meant to sleep except James had insisted on using his stomach as a pillow, and then –

One hand clapped instinctively at his abdomen in sudden shock. James was gone.

Scrambling to his feet, Spock left the shadow of the alcove and headed for the opening that led to the dry riverbed. His swift stride brought him out of the tunnel and onto the muddy flat within minutes. In the darkness, his eyes gradually adjusting, Spock turned in a slow circle trying to catch some sign of the other boy. Unease flexed through his stomach; the reason for James to have abandoned their resting place, ventured out alone and – Spock drew a sharp breath; he had left in such haste that he had not stopped to check if any water pouches had been taken from their supplies.

Spock's eyes scoured the slick wrinkled crust of the dry river, trying to pinpoint some sign that James had walked through here but the surface seemed undisturbed. The clear desert night cast a dim light over the landscape, showing the riverbed to be damp but surprisingly firm, the mix of sand and dirt weighed down and hardened from some unknown element. Not the kind of substance that would leave footprints, Spock noted with disappointment.

There was a sudden scuffle from behind a pile of large smooth river rocks, prickling his sensitive ears and sending Spock into alertness. He realized with a start that he'd forgotten all about the nighttime predators, and had not even picked up a shard of stone to possibly defend himself. He turned and stared hard at the source of the noise, legs poised to run.

"Spock."

The sound of his name said quietly sent a violent shudder through him.

"James?" He said loudly, eyes wide.

The other boy stepped out from behind the rocks and gave him a smile in the darkness. "Spock, look what I caught!" Smile turning toothy, James lifted up his arm, showing the dead carcasses of two small creatures hanging by their feet.

Relief coursed through Spock as he rushed to join the other boy. Many words thickened over the top of his tongue, most of them accusing and angry. Didn't the other boy know how stupid it was, wandering off all by himself; had James even thought to bring some water; did he even consider the risk of anoxia and the damage done to his ankle before venturing out; he could have gotten lost, become the prey of some nighttime creature, or fallen down the side of some cliff!

At his silence, James dropped his hand to his side, the carcasses dangling by his knee. Spock felt some of his ire fall away at the sight of the other boy's damaged ankle; it had been tightly bound with torn pieces from his desert shift to prevent further injuries.

"The sunset was pretty – it was like a huge orange ocean or something. I was going to wake you but you looked so tired so I thought, ah what the hell, I'll go check it out myself."

Spock could not believe the audacity. "You should have woken me."

 _Foolish, reckless human!_ Naïve could not accurately describe this brand of impetuous and imprudent behavior – had he not told James on several occasions that much of Vulcan's wildlife was nocturnal! _You could die! Do you understand! You could die!_ "It is unwise for you to be on your own."

James quirked a grin, "Same to you – anyway, I needed a change in diet, something that wasn't charcoal grass and tasteless ration bars." The boy shook the dead carcasses in his face proudly, "Told you I could do it."

Startled and nauseous from the smell of the animals' blood, Spock knocked the dead creatures from James' hand. They hit the ground with solid thumps – _yaliyats_ , his eyes recognized. The human boy looked from his dead prey to Spock, startled. "God, Spock, man, lighten up. I wanted to eat a decent meal, is that a problem?"

"You have not had any standard immunizations to ensure that you won't have an adverse reaction to eating the local fauna. You _should_ be concerned about the presence of _foreign_ bacteria and the risk of _viral infection and_ -' Spock closed his mouth with a click of teeth, mortified that his voice had grown exponentially louder with each word. _A loss of control…_ Those same terrible feelings from this afternoon rose in him like a furious sand storm and raked through this body. Spock shuddered, torn between dragging the boy back to the safety of the rocks, tying him up until he understood, until he obeyed, until - or falling to his knees in shame at these mad impulses.

James gave him a wide-eyed look, an unknown expression flashing across his face before it hardened into something Spock recognized: cold anger. "You know – you just," James went silent, and looked away to the dead carcasses at his feet. "I was just trying to help and – just, never mind…" The other boy murmured, stiffly turning away and half-stomped, half-limped towards the cavern opening.

Standing there for a moment and being unobserved, Spock allowed himself to feel confusion and relief and frustration; at James' illogical risk-taking behavior, the levity that the human treated everything, and at his own response. If he were human, Spock would have sighed and sagged from the loss of his adrenal rush, or perhaps spoken his mind. Being more Vulcan, he simply glanced at the sky, filed away this incident and followed James' lead back to the caverns, staunchly ignoring the odd pip that had taken up residence in his throat.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, orbit above Earth, year 2246_

This, Jim thought as he stared uneasily at the doors, had to be the longest turbolift ride ever in the history of Starfleet. It felt stifling in here, though he knew that the life support was functioning just fine and the lift was still the same shape and volume as a few hours ago. Glancing at the still Vulcan figure besides him, he noted with satisfaction that he wasn't alone in being jumpy. Despite the droll even bored expression that Spock leveled at the lift ceiling, the stiffness of his shoulders and the tightness around his mouth said a lot.

The plan was simple: locate key crew counterparts in this time-stream, determine their well-being and if need be, assign security personnel to track them. After that, things stopped being simple. They needed to either locate Nero and deal with him now, saving Vulcan and a whole lot of people in the process. Or, he thought casting a quick glance at his Vulcan first officer, they had to wait for 2258. The latter option held far less appeal, but the first wasn't going to fly unless they had some back up.

"Thoughts, Spock?"

The Vulcan turned his steady gaze to him and then away again, "Are you certain that you'll be successful in your venture?"

Well, that was unexpected. Jim would have guessed that Spock's first words would have been about Vulcan and its thriving population of six billion. He gave Spock a glance, allowing himself to smile a little; the Vulcan had phrased his doubts so nicely, rather than the usual straight up "You are illogical. Listen to me, you stupid human" – well, not in such few words, but the gist was the same. Jim bit back an inappropriate laugh and pulled at his plain black t-shirt for the third time since putting it on. God it felt so weird to be out of uniform.

He cleared his throat, "Got it covered, Spock, you just focus on handling..."

Jim wondered what he should call the Spock of this time – did Vulcans _do_ pet names?

"Myself?" Spock suggested with his usual charm.

"Yes – um, that. Don't forget to leave the shuttle behind – I for one don't want to spend the next twelve years in a Starfleet holding facility."

"Lieutenant Sulu is already in the shuttle bay. Ensign Chekov has plotted a course for Vulcan – we will depart as soon as you have beamed down and the shuttle is in place." Spock raised one eyebrow, almost chiding. "Do you intend on heading down alone, Jim?"

It went unspoken but he heard it anyway: _I would cite regulation, but know you will simply ignore it..._

He grinned at his XO, surprised but pleased that Spock could _lower_ himself to using what the man described as Jim's peculiar habit to "defuse tension through false levity." _There is hope for you yet Spock…_

"Well, Vulcans aren't exactly known for their holiday habits – it'll look really weird you know, dragging you around Riverside, Iowa."

The other eyebrow went up. Jim grinned harder; it was always funny when Spock couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Don't worry, I'll be bringing McCoy. Local records will show him based at a teaching hospital so if anyone raises a fuss about us digging around –" Man it'll be really weird to meet himself – he was still pretty scrawny at this age, "- wanting to know about mini-me, we'll have a valid excuse."

The turbolift doors opened and they both got off, heading for the transporter room. Bones was already there, standing on the transporter pad with his arms folded looking like he had the world's worst headache. Jim nodded a greeting to the transporter technician and got onto the pad, pointedly ignoring the doctor's dark scowl. Spock was still frowning at him.

"Yes Spock? Anything to add?"

"I'm just curious, Captain… your mother would not find it unusual for an unknown human employed in the medical profession, to pay a personal visit to your domicile with the intention of affirming your well-being?" There was a dramatic pause where Spock gave him a concerned look – the one that Jim translated to mean Spock thought there was something very wrong with the captain and it was too tragic, really, in consideration of his other talents.

Jim grinned. Now _that_ was funny.

He glanced to the side where the Bones was staring at Spock like he'd grown two horns, eyes narrowed and mouth gaping. Jim slapped the CMO on the shoulder, "You're embarrassing yourself, Bones. Lieutenant," He nodded to the technician, "Energize."

* * *

_Planetside: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

James resolutely gnawed through the nutrient bar with an expression of distaste. Spock watched for a moment and then turned to the skewer of desert pods and succulents being roasted over the fire.

They had temporarily decided to settle here in the caverns James had serendipitously discovered when he fell. It was ideal - smoke from their fires drifted upwards and out through the crevasse opening, and the slanted formation of the shaft made for excellent cover during the day or night, allowing fresh air flow and light while offering a measure of protection. The nearby presence of the riverbed meant that there was a rich source of water underground, easily accessible with a little digging.

"Can I have some?"

Spock lifted the splint skewer off the fire and hesitated; it was a risk to allow James to eat off the land without proper medical supervision. "I am not certain that is a good idea…"

James scrunched his nose in annoyance and took another hard bite out of the nutrition bar which, even Spock had to admit, was unpalatable. "You're just hogging all the good stuff."

"I am not." He stated firmly, by now quite used to these little moments of pique from James. "There are certain dangers in eating off the land, James, which you have already witnessed." Twice, Spock mentally added, reminded of the excruciating pain as his digestive tract struggled to metabolize/neutralized whatever foreign substance had been introduced to his body. Though, both meals had been uncooked – it was his hope that roasting the succulents would assist digestion and lessen chances of contamination.

With a huff, James cast a look at the ground. "You're going to have to let me eat some of it," The other boy grumbled, "We don't have a lot of this crap left."

Spock eyed the meager remains of their rations - four bars were left, not bad considering they had been here for just over three weeks. Logically their captors should be back for them soon since they would be aware that supplies should be almost gone if not already depleted; _that is if they even intended to come back at all_ , his mind whispered. Spock looked up into the night sky as he ate his simple meal, troubled. The _Narada_ was up there somewhere out of sight; the thought of their dark cell and the seeping cold was almost appealing enough that he felt a desire to be back there.


	6. Chapter 6

_USS Enterprise: en route to Earth, year 2246_

Nyota Uhura took a step back from the open door, surprised by her visitor. Staring at the younger man standing there in off-duty blacks, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to let him in or not, because he was one of the last people she'd expected at her door in the middle of the night cycle. James T. Kirk cocked an eyebrow at her and glanced around her quarters, frowning a little. He was technically supposed to be resting before his scheduled beam off, but Uhura imagined that like everyone else, he was having a hard time finding genuine rest.

"Nice digs." He commented, "Can I come in?"

Confused, Uhura took another step back. "Oh- oh yes, sure, sorry – err, Captain."

Kirk gave her slight smirk for the stuttering but didn't comment, slipping past her easily. Uhura tensed as soon as the doors closed, sealing them in her quarters. Though she trusted Kirk implicitly and they often found each other on shore leave to catch up, he rarely visited her quarters. The times he did, it was usually after some horrific mission, and she ended up picking up the pieces along with McCoy. She had saved him more than once from drowning in a pool of sick while he regressed to the adrenalin alcohol-fueled mess she'd been introduced to. His logic was that she already knew him at his worst, and so no one was being embarrassed by those visits. They'd tapered off now due to hard-earned experience and other outlets, but she supposed this mission had the potential for driving Kirk to those depths. He didn't look drunk though. She glanced around, following where his eyes went and realized that he was actually nervous.

"I'll cut to the chase, Uhura." Kirk said, eying the half-eaten remains of her midnight snack before meeting her eyes squarely. "I've put you on the away mission roster."

She stared at him, startled by the suddenness of his announcement _. "..._ pardon?"

Kirk took a deep breath, and with a slight grimace, turned away to glare at the floor, one hand running haphazardly through his short hair.

"I need him to be okay, Uhura… I need him to be - functioning, and everyone else pretty much operates under the assumption that he doesn't have real feelings – which we both know is a bunch of bull." He cleared his throat, his confident devil-may-care persona set aside as he gazed imploring at her.

"Jim," Uhura pursed her lips, her worry turning to slight alarm, "What's this about?"

She had an inkling who he was talking about, but wasn't sure why he was talking to her. Surely by now, everyone who was anyone knew that they had separated.

"I'm talking about Spock, who else?" Kirk said, almost waspish."He's on the away team, so I want you there."

An awkward silence fell as they stared at one another. She'd never had the younger man raise his voice at her, even when he was mad.

"He does feel." Kirk said tiredly, chagrin at his own unexpected flare of temper. "So if he looks like he is going to crack, then I expect you to do something about it, before he loses it. Besides the CMO, I'm giving you the authority to disqualify Spock from Acting Captain."

Uhura stared for a long moment at Jim Kirk, stunned. She was prepared to watch out for Spock but this, " _What_?"

Was Kirk mad? She wasn't first officer material! She'd barely survived two minutes in her Kobayashi Maru and had put off completing her Command certification as long as possible to avoid being asked to take the conn.

Kirk nodded, like it was decided. "Sulu will have the conn, with you as his first."

Before she could open her mouth to demand explanations, Kirk turned on his heel and left.

* * *

_Planetside: Vulcan, location unknown, year 2246_

Spock staggered to the far end of the cave and doubled over as nausea rolled through his stomach and his throat flexed painfully. He threw up a mouthful of last night's dinner, and panted for breath before the nausea reasserted itself, making him weak and breathless. He felt as though his insides were shaking up his windpipe, trying to flip inside out.

He became aware that James was standing at his side, hands twisting together as he shot Spock helpless looks. "Spock… are you… are you going to be okay?"

Spock nodded weakly. It would be best to just let his body's systems fulfill their function and rid him of the harmful substance he'd ingested. Walking back to the alcove where it was darker, he waved away James' attempt to help.

"I require rest," He murmured, sinking down into the sandy ground, "Wake me when it is evening."

James gave him a worried look, but stayed away as he had been instructed. "Okay…"

* * *

_Planetside: Earth, Iowa, year 2246_

"Last stop, Jim…" Bones muttered, cupping a hand over his eyes as he glared at the heli-cab speeding away from them.

Jim squinted against the bright midday sun. The house looked the same. The door still rattled and squeaked with every gust of wind. The fields lay empty – must have missed harvest. Walking up to the dirt driveway, he felt like he was in a dream. He had a really bad case of nerves; he was sweating like a pig and it wasn't even that hot. Damn. This was just like that time after driving the Corvette off the cliff, sitting on the chair at the police station, waiting for mom to come pick him up, then as now it was only worry over upsetting his mom that had the ability to make him sweat...

"You okay there?" Bones asked, frowning at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just nerves."

"This is last on the list."

It had been arranged that way for a reason. Everyone else had been accounted for, which left him. Frank was still alive when he was thirteen. God, what a head trip! Jim took a deep breath, bracing himself, "Yeah let's get it over with."

He watched Bones walk up to the front door, still debating whether or not to follow. Jim knew without looking that the old oak door would be open, not just unlocked but cracked wide open. Out here they never did worry much about closed doors and locks; no one to keep out in a community this small.

"Good afternoon," The doctor frowned and knocked lightly on the fly screen door frame, "Hello there, is there anyone home?"

There was a sound from inside, and then there was a young teenage boy in the hallway, peering at them. Shit. That was Sam, all skinny and gangly at – what was it? Fifteen? Sixteen? What the hell was he doing home? Sam was meant to be in school.

"Can I help you?" Sam crowded the door, peering at them suspiciously.

"Name's McCoy, I'm a student doctor with the McPhee Clinic. Do you know where I can find a James Tiberius Kirk? His residential address is listed here."

Sam's face quickly paled, and he twisted around to yell down the darkened hallway. "Mom! MOM! Come here!" The teenager glared at them through the door mesh, "What about him? Did you find him? _Mom_!"

Jim blinked. What the hell. Mom was home? She was supposed to be on a year-long mission that would get extended before the year was out. She wasn't supposed to be home. She was supposed to be on the _USS Douglas_ ; Frank was meant to be in hospital; Sam was meant to be at boarding school; and he should be lazing around doing nothing, waiting to be shipped out to be with her, with a stopover – Jim took a sharp breath – on Tarsus IV for a few weeks.

Suddenly, a woman was in the corridor. "Sam, what is it?"

Mom's hair was done up in a bun, her face tight and pale. She had her arms around her torso and looked thinner than he was used to, more tired and older than the last holovid he'd received from her. Their eyes met and he flinched, quickly looking away, scared she'd recognize him. Then he glanced back, half-hoping that she would. Her grey-blue eyes took in his appearance – the dark brown hair, light eyes, simple black outfit – and flicked away with disinterest. Winona Kirk slid an arm over Sam's shoulder and scrutinized McCoy with what Jim liked to call her "Commando" face.

"Yes?" She said quietly, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

"Yes ma'am." Bones said in his politest voice, "The name's McCoy. I'm looking for a James Tiberius Kirk – I believe he lives here. I'm a student doctor from the McPhee Clinic – are you his mother?" He never knew Bones was such a good actor; shouldn't be surprised really, the doctor always had a knack for the dramatic.

Mom cleared her throat, "Yes, but I'm sorry; you've missed Jimmy I'm afraid."

"Oh, well I'm sorry to trouble you but do you know when he'll be back?"

She shot a startled look at the doctor before the shutters slammed down, her face schooling itself to something neutral – the hard expression he'd run into every time she didn't want to talk about something. _Oh God no…_

"I'm sorry… but Jimmy's dead, Doctor, he's been dead for awhile." With that, she gave them one last look and pulled Sam out of the doorway, closing the door with a decisive click.

* * *

_The Narada: location unknown, year 2246_

Spock woke to darkness and green light and the smell of oil and water. There was the sound of someone sobbing quietly, a sound that would have been inaudible to a less aurally sensitive species. Even before he opened his eyes he knew they were back on the _Narada_. Shivering violently, he pushed himself slowly off the cold floor and looked around for the source of the noise. It was James, in a corner with his knees bared still in his torn makeshift robe his face hidden between his arms, a resting pose; Spock would have thought that the other boy was asleep if it weren't for his excellent hearing.

"James," He said softly, "Are you unwell?"

At the sound of his voice, the human's head snapped up and shot him an incredulous look. "S-Spock…?" James stammered in a weak voice, blinking at him with confusion and a peculiar expression, too complex for Spock to decipher.

Spock held up a placating hand, "It is –"

"Spock!" James shouted, quickly scrambling over on his hands and knees to examine Spock's countenance, before hugging him enthusiastically, "Spock! Oh _fuck_! I thought you were dead!"

He reeled back from the emotional and mental maelstrom but James clutched at him, crying harder than before. Confused, Spock forcibly pulled back, "James, I am well, and if I understand correctly, humans cry when in distress – are you…?"

James glared at him, his face and eyes all showing signs of prolonged emotional excitement, "You do that again and _I'll kill you_! You said you needed to rest-' Spock felt a shock when the human shoved him violently, "-and then you just lied down and it was like bam, you were gone – hours and hours and hours!" James' volume was increasing to an almost alarming level, "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING! I THOUGHT YOU DIED! I FUCKING THOUGHT YOU'D -!"

James choked on a sob and pushed at him angrily but without much strength, turning away from him he continued to weep. Spock blinked. How... unexpected. Cautiously, he reached out and touched the human on the shoulder, not sure what he should do. Suddenly, James threw himself forwards, wrapping an arm around Spock's shoulders in a hold that verged on strangulation. Though it was odd, Spock allowed it, sensing the urgency behind James' actions.

"I was merely in a deeply meditative state." He said softly, hoping that James would come to understand the logic behind his actions, "I apologize if I did not adequately explain to you what I was doing. It was necessary for me to heal myself in the most expedient manner – it is similar to a chemically induced coma and-" He widened his eyes in surprise when he felt wetness against his shoulder, and James began to bodily shake, "-and… I'm sorry."

The sensation started again, somewhere low in his abdominal cavity, slowly curling along his limbs. He could not describe it – but it was most… pleasant. Suddenly James pulled back and pressed their lips together. Oh. _Oh._

"For not dying on me…" James breathed against his mouth, before sitting back and giving him a broad grin, "And because mom always does that, she says it's good for the soul, and also, I am definitely not going to die without having kissed anyone at all." The human contorted his face, "Except for my _mom_."

 _Illogical. Insane._ These were the words that came to mind for the boy's swift emotional transition from anguish, to shock, to joy, to anger, to disbelief, to relief, to fear at what could have been and then onto ecstatic happiness. Still beaming, James ran his hands through Spock's hair roughly and leaned forwards till their foreheads touched, laughing at something Spock couldn't comprehend. Everything inside of him recoiled in shame and shuddered with – with –

"I know this is so totally not cool with Vulcans and I know that in the real world you'd probably think I'm all illogical and _human_ and shit and I'm _sorry_ -" James grinned, looking distinctively unrepentant, "-for sneaking a kiss in on you but," The human opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, before he suddenly stopped, regarding Spock closely. "Just, well, let's be best friends, yeah?"

Spock wondered if it would be polite for him to lie back down, as he distinctively felt very overwhelmed with the effects of serotonin and dopamine. Vulcans seldom had more than a few friends and those relationships were held in the highest esteem. No one had ever offered however to be a _best_ friend.

"That would be… acceptable."

James grinned brightly and patted Spock's face in a way that he has become strangely accustomed to, "And now, I'm going to hug you again."

* * *

_USS Enterprise: in orbit around Vulcan, year 2246_

Nyota Uhura rounded the corner to the transporter room. Spock was already there, ramrod straight on the receiving pad attired in typical Vulcan garments, his eyes contemplating an unfixed point somewhere near the floor and his hair suitably lightened to disguise him. She felt strange enough being part of the away team for Vulcan, but she couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like for Spock. Vulcan had been gone for two years already, and now here they all were – Spock, two security officers in plain clothes, a scientist, Sulu and her – beaming down onto a non-existent planet.

A trill of sorrow went through her; they'd finished their relationship amicably some months after being assigned to the _Enterprise_ – and it'd been her, not him, to bring it up. She liked Spock; he was attractive, smart and – well, Uhura thought wryly, she couldn't exactly describe him as "nice" but yes, something along that vein; honorable; trustworthy; hardworking and all things praiseworthy. She was fond of him and she admired him – a lot. But after Vulcan, Nero, the _Narada_ and well… it'd been fine for awhile – the thrill of victory, the thrill of being on the _Enterprise_ , and then…

And then the _reality_ of living in the aftermath of what the public dubbed the "Vulcan Massacre" hit.

Working overtime to ferry diplomats and sensitive goods between space stations and planetary bases (duties that _should_ have been split with other ships manned by graduates), as well as their usual duties to explore, oversee Federation borders, assist in colonization projects and the list went on… And between all that, well, it just _wasn't_ , he _didn't_ , she _couldn't_ …

Uhura stepped onto the transporter pad and quietly assumed her place next to him. He barely acknowledged her, nodding to the technician. A few more words for Spock came to mind: dismissive, presumptuous, and avoidant.

The transporter room disappeared in a haze and then she was standing next to a large piece of jutting sandstone-like rock, with thick spiny succulents circling it. _Vulcan_. She took a deep breath – even the air smelt dry. Her hand automatically reached for the small container of moisturizer in her pocket. Spock surveyed their surroundings slowly, as if he could not believe what he was seeing. She examined the softness in his usually sharp eyes and felt a wave of tenderness tinged with sadness – what must it be like for him, to once again see his childhood home…

"Ensign Wellington, Lieutenant Xing, if you could please assist Lieutenant Sulu and Doctor Geisu…"

The security personnel nodded and Sulu gave her a small reassuring smile. They disappeared among the rock formations and succulents. When Uhura turned back from looking at them, Spock had already gone ahead. Refraining from shooting him a heated glare, she followed, jogging a bit to catch up to him. Every – single – _damn_ – time he did that, she just wanted to –

"Spock…" She was already sweating and this wasn't even hot by Vulcan standards! Thanks to Chapel she had her injection, or right now she'd be dying from the punishing pace Spock was setting, "Are you going to be okay?"

He was focused entirely on the upcoming doorway, "There is no need to be concerned for my health – I assure you, I am well, which cannot be said for yourself," Spock glanced at her, "Do you require any assistance? I understand that the experience of Vulcan's atmosphere and gravity can be quite daunting for a human, even with tri-ox compound."

That's not what she meant and he knew it. Damn him.

Uhura grabbed him by the arm, "Stop, stop Spock, just _stop_. I _need_ to know, for the mission, that you're not going to do anything stupid."

A muscle in his jaw flexed, "Lieutenant, I _suggest_ that you unhand me. This is unbecoming behavior."

She took a quick glance around. Other Vulcans nearby were continuing with their daily business but her gut feeling told her that they were all frowning at her, in sync. _Great, just great…_ Uhura let go of Spock's arm and took a step back. Spock straightened his sleeve.

"Thank you." He said tonelessly and resumed walking, albeit at a slower pace.

With a sigh, Uhura followed. "Spock, look at me." Yeah, she didn't think it would be that easy, "Spock, _please_ look at me."

_Come on Spock, you know me better than that…_

There was a break in Spock's sure strides, but he did not look at her.

"Look, I'm sorry for implying that you-" She lowered her voice to a whisper, "-wouldn't do your job; we all know who held Kirk's hand when the Admiralty totally lost their senses and gave him the captaincy without even a probation period so yes, I trust you – even Kirk knows it, and Spock, the man trusts you."

 _He trusts you with his life, and considers you his friend…_ There were many facets to Jim Kirk but the one she liked best was his willingness to go the extra mile for people important to him. While she didn't like being saddled with the enormous responsibility of returning Spock back to the ship mentally and emotionally intact, part of her was glad that Kirk had cared enough to drag her into this, to have thought about what this would be doing to their sole Vulcan crew member despite the levity he wore as armor.

"But _Spock_ -" Uhura stopped and wondered how she could say this without offending someone or screwing up what she meant, "Spock…" She hesitated, mouth dry, "I'm here… if you need me."

With a small curt nod to show his acknowledgment, Spock walked on, resuming the punishing pace he'd originally set. Well, that was probably the best she was going to get out of him. Putting aside her feelings and marshaling her focus back to the mission at hand, Uhura trailed him in silence, saving her breath for the walk to Sarek's estate.

_Watch Spock, Uhura… watch him and don't let him out of your sight… sooner or later he'll do something rash – stop him before it's too late and he regrets it…_

Uhura took a long strained gulp of air and quickened her pace.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Narada: location unknown, year 2246_

Spock bit into the savory fruit. Next to him, James was scooping up the lukewarm stew with his hand and slurping enthusiastically, inciting Spock to new heights of disdain. Even by Earth standards, it was impolite but he conceded that etiquette didn't really matter when no one was watching. It had been days since they were beamed back to the ship. James was regaining his health and Spock had to admit he was relieved despite their lack of freedom. Nero had not called for them, but rather left their care to others who appeared occasionally to deliver food and drink.

"I used to hate them but I'd do anything for a spork right now," James said, displaying a mouthful of masticated flesh. "And don't –" The other boy shot him an amused grin, sticky finger pointed in Spock's direction, "– say a thing about how it's dangerous to barter my absolute obedience in return for instant gratification of an ultimately fleeting and illogical desire."

Spock felt a curl of revulsion at James' open-mouth, chipping away at his already frayed sense of decorum. "James, please refrain from simultaneous consumption and articulation."

The Human looked at him with confusion and then started to laugh from the back of his throat, making odd sounds modulated by the act of his chewing. It was gratifying to see James regain his cheerful countenance. Laughter, when it occurred in response to direct stimuli, was a sign of good health, or so mother liked to say. Since their food was Romulan and therefore more suited for his Vulcan physiology, Spock was willing to admit his gratitude at having some method of ascertaining his friend's well being, however unquantifiable.

"And they say that Vulcans don't have a sense of humor."

Spock schooled his features, unwilling to be draw into this argument again. "Vulcans do not."

James grinned, "Oh so what – you're not Vulcan?" His blue eyes flicked to Spock's ears, "Could've fooled me."

 _But I am indeed not_ , Spock thought. He looked carefully at his friend and felt a slight hesitation on his part to announce his Humanity. It had always been a source of disdain for Vulcans, and though it was not logical to harbor secrets regarding his own nature from a friend, Spock felt conflicted.

"I am half-Vulcan. My mother is Human."

James gave him a surprised blink, hands freezing, " _Really_?"

He stiffened, "Does this disturb you?"

"No, not really, I dunno, I guess I just don't care." The Human said, sitting back and licking his fingers with relish – a most strange and distracting habit… "Vulcan genes are dominant aren't they? I think I read that when I was skimming through my AR for Xenobiology."

"That is correct."

James gave him a confused smile, "I don't really see what the difference is, but it totally makes that whole you wanting to pick roses with your mom thing make a whole lot more sense. Seriously, Spock, you should have mentioned this earlier – it makes that a lot less embarrassing that's for sure."

Though Spock did not understand the correlation between wet-planet observatories, filial piety and acceptable peer behavior, he didn't protest but rather filed it away as something he would ask mother, if... no _when_ he saw her again.

* * *

_Planetside: Vulcan, location outside of Sarek's Estate, year 2246_

"My mother…" Spock began in a soft voice; Uhura thought she detected a hint of tenderness in the way he enunciated the word, "…is well-known within the Human diplomatic community based here on Vulcan. She has extended what you would call an "open invitation" for any of them to visit with her for three days each week cycle. Today is one such day."

Uhura was surprised at this information, but then she chided herself – of course, Sarek was Vulcan's representative to Earth, and like any political position, it wasn't just about him; sometimes the whole family was involved.

"Is that our angle?"

Spock nodded an affirmative, "The Department of Temporal Investigations has provided me with a special code they assigned to Admiral Chandra during this period, so if someone were to check the validity of our request, they will receive confirmation that it is indeed issued by Starfleet Command; I have already sent a message forewarning her of your arrival."

" _My arrival_?"

"Yes, you are to be a linguist working in the service of the Department of Xenoculture, and Lady Amanda is to assist you in acclimatizing to life here during your assignment on Vulcan." Spock stopped so suddenly that she almost walked into him; he gave her what was almost a friendly look, "To use the Human vernacular, she is going to 'show you the ropes'."

"Okay." Uhura nodded – made sense, "So what will you be doing?"

Spock resumed their climb up the last flight of stairs to his family home, "I am to be a staff member of Vulcan's subsection to the Department of Xenoculture, assigned to oversee your activities until such time as you've become familiar with the city."

Very logical, Uhura thought, except for the part where Spock would be forced to just stand there, meters away from a mother he never had a chance to say goodbye to and lost under the worst of circumstances. Cruel and unusual punishment, she smiled bitterly, but before she could commiserate anymore on Spock's behalf, the door swung open and there was a woman standing there smiling at them.

"Hello, I saw you from the balcony," The unknown woman gestured up and to the side, "I thought I might as well answer the door before you had to knock."

Uhura mustered up her best smile, "Lady Amanda, I believe."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, Iowa, Riverside year 2246_

"So… what do you want to do now?"

Jim shrugged and kept walking towards the small town in the distance. He had no idea. They had a few more hours left until the automatic extraction protocols kicked in and the shuttle computers beamed them on board – it seemed that Spock had miscalculated how much time they'd need to complete their away mission. A small part of himself was looking forwards to ragging on his first officer about this, but mostly, he just wanted to get out of here. Jim reached into his pocket and fiddled with the modified communicator then frowned at the screen; it appeared they would be stuck here for awhile longer. Dammit.

"The shuttle's currently out of range – we could still beam up but it certainly wouldn't be under the radar… best to wait, besides, I'm feeling pretty hungry." And he wanted to stick around, ask some questions, find out how he died, if _the Romulan bastard_ did it here, left a corpse for Sam or Frank to find. Jim swallowed hard; thank goodness the others were all alive and fine – Uhura was cute as a button in her tennis shorts and Chekov wasn't more than a blur of giggles and bouncy hair at the moment. God if they'd been gone too… "There's a great pancake place around here – wanna go check it out?"

The pancake place had burnt down when he was sixteen and he'd always missed it.

"Real food huh? I could use a bit of that."

He smiled at Bones, expecting a roll of the eyes to his question, "Because replicator food isn't real huh?" What he got was a worried piercing stare, like he was about to crack any minute. Jim rolled his eyes and mentally sighed, "I'm fine, I'm _fine_ , Bones."

"You sure about that?" The doctor fixed him with a disgruntled glare, "Because I'm telling you Jim, I wouldn't be half as cheery if I found out I got snuffed by some crazy mad-bad Romulan from the future-"

He cracked a smile. Only Bones would be calling Nero the "mad-bad Romulan from the future" with a straight face.

"-That boy was you – heck, he _is you_."

Yeah but he wasn't. Jim kept walking. That boy never got a first kiss. That boy never discovered the benefits of a hard drink. That boy never discovered sex, or how to fight with his fists, or got hypo-spray-phobia because of a cranky doctor, or chased a girl for her first name, or… Jim stopped and looked up at the sky. "I think I'll have the pineapple triple stack with real maple syrup."

Bones sighed, seemingly giving up his interrogation for the moment, "Expensive."

The diner would be gone in three years time, "It's worth it."

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Sarek's Estate, year 2246_

Uhura shifted back to get more comfortable on the plush sofa and took the time to look around at all the artworks on the walls, a mix of figurative landscapes and abstract expressionism. Beside her, Spock sat stiffly on the edge in an uncomfortable pose that looked like he was preparing himself to stand up and run at any moment. She reached out with a hand, meaning to touch him on the shoulder.

 _Nyota, sweetheart, you know we don't touch Vulcans_ …

Her father's deep smooth baritone, from somewhere deep in her memory, shuddered through her. It had been when she was little, and there had been an inter-planetary symposium; her father had attended as one of the academics from the University of West Africa. There had been representatives and their families from the Vulcan Science Academy. She had wanted to play with one of the Vulcan girls who had the straightest black hair she'd ever seen.

Her hand returned to her lap.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Lady Amanda said as she breezed in, her movements elegantly spare as if she was a Vulcan herself, putting down a tray of tea and light snacks without a sound, "It seems that I've run out of some things, I've been so busy lately I haven't had the time to replace them."

"Oh really – no please, you've been more than generous, giving up your time like this, truly." She smiled when the older woman waved her gentle protest away and poured her a cup of tea. Uhura politely accepted the cup Amanda held out to her, "Oh, thank you."

Uhura took a sip and watched with her heart in her throat as Amanda leaned forwards, holding the tea out to Spock. There was a moment of tense silence where she thought that Spock would drop the cup, but he only stiffened his arm and then withdrew, staring at nothing. She hoped that Amanda wouldn't notice his odd behavior but thankfully, Spock's mother was focused on her.

"So how do you like Vulcan?"

"Oh it's –" _dry, hot, scorching and supposed to be gone_ , "-lovely! I'm from Africa, towards the West Coast and well, I guess it reminds me a little bit of home, except for the dryness."

Lady Amanda smiled, "That's good, so many people come here and find it all very overwhelming as you can imagine – I myself came from Canada, and well, it took some getting used to."

"Yes, definitely." Uhura smiled, and almost wanted to throw herself through a wall.

For all her Starfleet training, no one had ever taught her how to make small talk and not scream from frustration at all the subterfuge. She liked things to be direct and clear. It was part of why she went straight into encryption and decryption upon electives becoming available in her second year, intent on serving aboard a ship – she wouldn't be able to handle all the secrets and drama that went on with linguists who strictly worked the diplomatic corps. It was part of why she had been attracted to Spock, and why she'd given him up.

"Do you have family?"

"It's me, my dad, and mom, lots of extended family though." She said quickly, "What about you?' She asked, because that's what they were here about – Spock, or rather the Spock that was a teenager, "Is it just Ambassador Sarek and yourself?"

Amanda's face took on an overcast look, "No, no, we have a son."

She nodded with a smile, "How old is he?"

"F-fifteen-" The older woman's hand covered her mouth, shaken. Swallowing almost painfully, Amanda waved a hand apologetically, unable to look at them.

Besides her, Spock shot up from the sofa, every single muscle in his body tense like it was about to snap. Without thinking, Uhura stood up and flung her arm out to prevent him from taking a step closer.

"Seriyk, could you _excuse us_?"

Spock shot her a tightly controlled look of fury and desolation.

 _No_ , she mouthed silently, glaring hard, _no Spock, you cannot_.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his lips curling and for a moment Uhura felt real fear. This Spock was the one who went into a rage and almost strangled Kirk, the one who'd been satisfied to see Nero burn, the one she'd been unable to face – all that passion, all those hidden depths behind his cool façade. She swallowed thickly, and felt a small shiver run down her spine. There was the sound of a sob; Spock's eyes flickered to his mother and then back, his shoulders tensing even as his initial fury drained away. She averted her eyes from his imploring gaze and shook her head. No, cooler heads had to prevail. This was the logical action to take. This was…

 _OUT_ – Uhura mouthed, jerking her thumb to the terrace doors, her mouth a thin determined line.

With one last look at the figure of Amanda Grayson, Spock forcibly turned, stiffly marching to the balcony.

Uhura silently heaved a sigh of relief – one major Temporal Prime Directive breach prevented, several more coming up. Going around the coffee table and sitting silently next to Amanda, she pressed a napkin into the woman's hand. A woman didn't start crying when a visitor mentioned her son unless something had happened. This was not good.

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, Iowa, Riverside year 2246_

"Ah… Jim?"

"Hmm… what?" Jim muttered, tapping at his communicator display with a frown. The signal was playing up for some reason.

"Ah, Jim, I think you should know that –"

_"Who THE HELL are you and what do you want!"_

Hands smacked down on the table so hard that their empty plates and cutlery shifted to the left. Jim looked up in a fright, before instinctively shirking away from the figure looming over him. His communicator slipped from his grasp and clattered loudly on the hard slick surface of the table. Around the diner, some people had stopped eating and were staring at them with interest. _Oh just wonderful… way to keep a low profile…_

Winona Kirk fixed them both a cold glare, "I'll have you know that I am a commissioned Starfleet officer and if you don't start explaining why you've been asking around about Jimmy _right now_ , the authorities and Starfleet will be here before you've had time to finish your coffee!"

"Ma'am we're not –"

She jabbed an angry finger in McCoy's face, "Don't you _Ma'am_ me! I looked up the McPhee Clinic after you left and I sent them the captures I took of your face; the real Leonard McCoy-" Her voice dropped to a low hiss, "-is not even twenty and you're hitting close to forty! So shut the hell up and tell me who you are and what you want!"

They gave each other a look – yeah, this was going to be a tough one.

"Fine, you wanna know? Sit down," He gestured for Bones to shift over.

She gave him a suspicious look but sat down. He could see from the gleam in her eye that it was a tactical decision – drawing attention was unwanted, and they could hardly try anything on her with a room full of witnesses.

"Talk," Winona Kirk snapped. _Or else_ , her dark tone implied.

"What do you know about advanced theoretical physics – specifically, singularities, black holes and the like?"

Bones shot him an anxious look. He placated him with a glance – _I know what I'm doing, I'm the Captain, let me captain dammit!_

That drew a startled frown, "What has this-?"

"Please just answer the question – look, we work for Starfleet."

She gave them both a skeptical look, "Starfleet, right… well I'm a biologist, not a damned physicist… so I don't know much but I know there's been an interest …'

Good enough he supposed; "Do you know about the DTI?"

Her eyebrows shot up, "The Department of Temporal Investigations?" She narrowed her eyes and clasped her fingers in front of her, her piercing gaze flicking from Bones to him and then back again, "You with them?"

He nodded tersely, "We're from the future-" Bones covered his face and moaned _Oh God_ into the palms of his hands, "- we're hunting a wanted criminal who has come back in time in an attempt to affect future events. So yes, McCoy here is not the real McCoy in 2246."

Winona turned to the doctor with a startled blink. The doctor gave her a sheepish wave.

"Look, Commodore, it is imperative that we know," No it wasn't; he just wanted to know, "How did Jimmy die?"

She gave him an incredulous look, "What do you mean? How is that important?"

"It's just…" Jim's eyes roved the diner, seeking inspiration on what he could say without giving everything away. Deciding to take a leaf from Ambassador Spock's book, he lowered his voice and leaned closer, "It's just, look, he _wasn't_ meant to die. In my timeline, Jimmy lives and he does something really, really important, that basically saves the Federation."

Bones snorted and muttered _unbelievable_ under his breath. Jim shot him a dirty look.

Winona Kirk sat back, her disbelieving frown shifting to a worn smile, "My Jimmy..." She said tonelessly with an empty chuckle, one of her hands coming up to rub at her neck, "My Jimmy, the kid who can't even..." Her eyes flicked out the windows as her voice went hoarse, "Who can't even sit still in class for _one day_ , he's going to save the Federation…?"

Bones shot him a guilty look from across the table. _Well, are you happy now?_

Jim swallowed against the ugly ball of emotion threatening to gush out. He wanted more than anything to just jump across the table and put his arms around her waist and – _DAMMIT!_ He'd been worried _Spock_ would screw this up? Reaching over he took out a few napkins and put them on the table in front of her. She nodded her thanks and quickly took them.

"Look, we need to know, how did Jimmy-"

"He didn't," Winona interrupted, clearing her throat and raised her steady gaze to meet his, "He was just gone. Frank – Frank was asleep and – and he doesn't remember much, but Jimmy was there, and it was fine, and then…" She looked down at the table, guilt striped across her face, "He was gone in the morning. We couldn't find him. Jimmy's a smart kid but sometimes he can be too smart for his own good… I don't know I-"

There was a heavy pause as she rubbed at her eyes, lips a thin drawn line as she visibly held back tears. "He used to say that he would come after me, get on a transport, and I… I never thought he'd do it." She met their gazes, and smiled humorlessly, voice hoarse and strangled by tightly controlled grief. "It's been months and – and he's been listed as Missing, Possibly Deceased… I don't really expect to see him again, and neither should you."

He shared a look with Bones, who looked like he was possibly about to jump out of his seat and start dancing and singing at the same time. "Wait a _goddamn_ minute there, lady! Are you saying that Jimmy's possibly _alive_?"

She averted her eyes, "Maybe. But there's no point – the galaxy's a big place, and–"

"And nothing – we know what we're doing," He cut in, shooting her a grin, "If he's out there alive somewhere, we'll find him. We have a mission, and that includes preservation of the timeline by making sure your son lives."

She tilted her head in that way she did, skeptical, "I still don't quite believe you.'

He smiled; oh _boy_ has he been on the other end of that look more times than he could count… "Just keep an eye out."

She nodded, finally sitting back.

"Oh shit!" Winona cursed, suddenly scrambling to her feet, "Starfleet – I told them about you two – they ordered me to distract you – they're sending a security team here-"

He shot up in his seat, " _What_?"

"They called me right after you left! The Earth-Defense system picked up a blind spot yesterday followed by a unknown signal registering on their planet-wide telemetry – they've been tracking it since early this morning, and finally triangulated it to Riverside! To my place! They asked and _of course_ I told them about you and your strange questions and –"

 _Oh shit, oh shit._ He patted himself down, trying to think of what it could be that they were tracking. He smacked his forehead. Oh _of course!_ The subcutaneous trackers they injected themselves with for automatic beam up to the cloaked shuttle in orbit! Damn shuttle computers must have been pinging them!

" _Jim,_ " Bones growled, glaring at him like it was his fault.

Winona Kirk whirled around and stared at him, jaw dropping, "Jim?"

_Oh fuck shit and die._

The doors to the diner slammed open and a security team with phasers out and ready stormed the small eatery. Several people screamed and some even dropped down to hide under the table, having obviously remembered their Hostile Situations drill from high school.

"HALT! HANDS IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

That man had to be like Lieutenant Cupcake's brother or something, Jim thought with dark humor. Winona was quickly escorted away by the team medic. She waved away their concerns; no they didn't do a thing, they were just talking. There was a movement from the back, and the sea of gunmetal-blue Academy uniforms parted.

_OH this was just getting better and better!_

"This is Commander Christopher Pike. Surrender any weapons you have, you are now under arrest for espionage – I suggest you comply or we will use deadly force." Pike gave them both a steely look, summing them up with a quick once-over, "Take them away, Lieutenant."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Jim winced as he was shoved face-first onto a nearby table, arms pulled out behind him. His CMO joined him a moment later with a grunt of indignation.

"I wish I didn't know you," Bones grumbled darkly as they were cuffed.


	8. Chapter 8

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Sarek's Estate, year 2246_

"I am so sorry," The older woman murmured miserably into the napkin held to her mouth, "I didn't mean to lose control like that. This is so terribly embarrassing and– this is –"

Nyota Uhura gifted her with a sympathetic smile, hand lightly running up and down the other woman's back. "It's okay, you don't have to explain."

"You're the first guest I've had in months, and – this is so embarrassing," Amanda Grayson shut her eyes in mortification, fist pressed to her forehead as if she wanted to give herself a good knock. "I am so sorry that you've had to see me like this …"

Uhura continued to rub the woman's back with soothing circular motions but internally her mind was racing... She knew that the _Enterprise_ had arrived in this time stream approximately six months after the Romulan escape pod... if Amanda Grayson hadn't been receiving visitors for months... the timing seemed too close to be coincidence. A cold fear seized her heart at the thought of herself, on Earth, 14 years old, all legs and no balance, her mother and father – and the idea of Spock, of Sulu, of Kirk or Chekov or Scotty or McCoy or any of them…

Suddenly the woman chuckled. "I think I scared Seriyk with my display."

"He'll be fine," Uhura dismissed but secretly, she hoped she was right and that Spock would be able to regain his control on his own because this time there's no Jim Kirk around to order him to stand down, knock him around or needle him into talking. She picked up one of the quaint celadon teacups on the low table and held it out, "Here have a little."

The other woman murmured her thanks and silently took a sip. Uhura clasped her hands awkwardly and wondered if it was the right time to ask questions. "Is your son- is he- I mean, well it's none of my business but if you wanted to talk about it, I'm- I'm here, and I'm willing, Lady Amanda, to lend you a friendly Human ear."

She smiled hopefully.

Amanda Grayson returned it. "Please, it's just Amanda. And this," Reaching down through the wide opening of her collar, she extracted a small golden locket, in the shape of an oval. "This is my son, Spock.'

She snapped open the locket, producing a hologram no bigger than the size of Uhura's palm – a young Vulcan boy, with slender up-swept eyebrows, the typical Vulcan haircut, large eyes and a very solemn expression. Despite the softness of his features, and the excess of baby fat on his cheeks, he was undeniably Spock. It wasn't what she had expected, that Spock, who was all elegant edges, may once have been just an ordinary teenage boy. Uhura took a deep breath and wondered if Amanda Grayson had noticed the similarities between _Seriyk_ and her son.

"He's beautiful." She said, because that's what you said about other people's children; it helped that in this case, it was also the truth; "So he's fourteen, the teenage years huh?"

The proud mother nodded, her expression becoming slightly exasperated as she switched the locket off, "Yes, too intelligent for his own good and emotionally stunted – teenage boys are the same no matter where," She wiped the remaining tears away, sniffling in between her chuckles, "I swear, all this boy does is brood, angst and brood some more."

Uhura smiled at the description.

"How did he… how did it happen" She asked carefully.

The older woman blew her nose delicately before clearing her throat, a sadness settling over her countenance. "We were off-planet, at the Starfleet shipyard further out in the system; it was for a reception, welcoming the new commander. It was supposed to be a little less than six hours in all, flight time included, but there was an attack – by an unknown vessel – it was massive, one big giant ship-"

Uhura tensed: the _Narada_.

"-it knocked out the shipyard deflectors. I was –" Amanda's voice became softer, "–we all were terrified. Everyone was forced to evacuate. The escape pods were programmed to fly directly to the nearest M-class planet, in this case, Delta Vega-"

She felt a shock of recognition – that was the planet Kirk had been marooned on.

"-as there's a remote Starfleet base there…" Amanda paused in her narrative and took a breath. She reached for her cup of tea, finishing off the fortifying contents in one gulp. "I don't even know if I'm supposed to be telling you this, I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't- oh but you are in Starfleet, maybe you've heard?"

Nyota Uhura affected her best earnest look and nodded.

"Of course you would have heard - well, by the time we got back, a whole entire three days had gone by. We didn't worry. I mean, this is Spock after all," Amanda Grayson smiled softly, tenderness and pride creeping out from the cadence of her voice, "He is very mature for his age, quite remarkable."

Yes, she thought, nodding and smiling encouragingly at the woman. Internally, Uhura cringed, pitying the older woman for her insistence in referring to Spock in the present tense.

"But he was _gone_ ," Amanda's voice hitched, becoming a whisper, "The door had been knocked down, his room was a mess, the window shutters were smashed and it was just-"

Uhura barely stopped herself from exhaling sharply – so the younger Spock was not dead, but she wasn't sure if she should be relieved that the young Spock was alive or terrified that he was now the captive of a madman. She resumed running her hand up and down Amanda Grayson's back. Finally, composed, the other woman sniffled a little into her napkin and excused herself to freshen up.

What a mess, the communications officer thought as she stared after the older woman's retreating back. If only Sulu and Chekov had fired one more volley of torpedoes into the burning wreck of the _Narada_ when that black hole had started to form… this whole entire stupid situation could have been avoided. _Except…_

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura looked over behind her at Spock's figure, standing there all by himself on the balcony, his spine straight as a pole. Except this was a chance to redo it all, to save his mother, save all those cadets and this entire planet. Standing up, she headed in the direction Amanda had gone, feeling the sudden urge to use the bathroom and wash her face and maybe hyperventilate. The responsibility of what they could do with all they knew, the possibility of messing it up, of being too late…

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

"I'm sorry ma'am but the Commander is currently –"

"I don't care if he's got Admiral Archer in there with him or an Orion stripper doing the…" The familiar voice dropped down to a hiss as Commander Christopher Pike rounded the corner to an amusing sight. Three yeomen, including one burly Bolian boy, were all clumped together and giving a wide berth to the woman in dark hoverbike gear, glaring icicles at them. He didn't catch her next words, but he could guess from the startled expressions on the yeomens' faces that it was pretty shocking stuff coming out of a commodore.

"Commodore," He greeted, putting on his driest voice, "What a lovely surprise to see you – shouldn't you be on leave?"

Commodore Winona Kirk whipped around to face him, hair flinging around her shoulders like snakes. "Commander Pike," She said coolly, a hint of annoyance in her tone, "I'd like a word." With another icy glance at the three yeomen cowering behind the front desk, Winona tossed her bike helmet carelessly at the terrified yeomen who'd been trying to sneak away from the scene with a warning to _Catch_ and brushed past Pike without even waiting for a response.

It was only Starfleet reflexes that saved the veneer of that helmet.

Sighing mentally in exasperation, Pike followed her into his office, not wanting their conversation to be in the hall. He gestured for the petty officers to stand down and take a break, and they scattered quickly, leaving only the one with the helmet behind to man the desk - no doubt as punishment for trying to run. With the Kirk name and Winona's reputation, this was bound to be all over the campus by tomorrow evening. He just hoped this time the rumors would be less violent.

"Winona, you're supposed to be on leave."

She made a bee-line for his wet bar and poured a glass of water, gulping it down in seconds. "Yeah well, you're not supposed to be on Earth. Congratulations on the promotion."

Pike smiled blandly at her attempt to divert his attention. "You already congratulated me three months ago, Winona. This isn't about my promotion."

She shrugged, not even attempting any subterfuge and fired off her questions, "What do you know about them? One of them calls himself Leonard McCoy, a medical doctor, apparently – and the other one, his name is Jim."

That matched up with what little intel they had managed to collect. Pike took in her disheveled appearance and wondered if she had honestly ridden her hoverbike all the way here from Iowa; it would be the only reason she'd need the riding gear but considering the distance, it was no pleasure ride; obviously she meant business and would not be dissuaded. "You seem to know them pretty well."

At that she snorted, and poured another glass, this time taking measured sips. "Me? You've had the last five hours to bench press them into answering questions. I had five minutes."

"And let me guess," Pike exhaled tiredly, "You want to see the tapes."

The woman saluted him with her almost empty glass, swigged the last mouthful and set it firmly down on the glass-top bar.

Christopher Pike stared at her for a long moment, wondering if there was anything he could say to stop her from sticking her nose in. Though he knew it was probably a foregone conclusion, he was still obligated to try; "Winona, this is a Starfleet Security matter, and technically you're on mandatory stand down until next week."

She laughed; it was a dry lifeless sound. "Chris, let's be blunt here – these guys came to my house looking for _me_ , looking for _my Jimmy_. I deserve to know."

Winona stalked over to his desk and sat down primly, hands clasped in front of her upon the desk surface. She gave him an expectant look, "If I wanted to, I could pull rank – you know I could. I'll just call up Barnett and ask him to reinstate me."

 _Persistent woman_ , Pike smiled faintly. Walking over to join her at his desk, he leaned on the tabletop and imputed his personal codes. The screen flashed to life and he imputed the second level password, unlocking his access to the mainframe and bringing up the recordings. "This never happened. You were never here."

Winona Kirk met his eyes, "Turn around, Commander."

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Sarek's Estate, year 2246_

The view from his father's estate was as he remembered. Though midday was fast approaching, the air still held the cool touch of early morning as Spock watched the shadows disperse from beneath the towering and jagged red stone formations unique to this planet, his planet. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back on the wide stone terrace, uncertain and conflicted. Logic seemed to recede with the blue shadows of early morning as the primary star slowly ascended to its zenith in the orange sky, overshadowing her siblings. Though he knew – very well, verbatim in fact – that the Temporal Prime Directive forbade him to reveal himself, all the emotions that warred within him demanded it.

"It's a beautiful day."

Startled, he snapped around to face his mother. She smiled broadly at him, obviously amused by his surprise. He noted that she was once more composed and confident, the only evidence of her previous distress being the slight redness fringing the edges of her eyes.

"I'm sorry Seriyk I didn't mean to startle you. Nyota is currently refreshing herself. She'll be back soon."

Her robes were light, a mix of bronze-tinted silk from Terra and the more traditional grey Vulcan twill. He remembered this one as being her favorite till it was put aside to be replaced by pastel colors that she deemed 'more festive' when father began traveling again as his diplomatic duties demanded.

"An apology is unnecessary – no offense occurred."

She smiled, that cryptically amused Human smile that intrigued him as a child, "Of course."

"May I… may I inquire as to your well-being?"

It sounded like a poor attempt, even to him.

"I am," She broke off to look down, her smile becoming self-deprecating, 'I _will_ be fine.'

_Fine has variable definition, fine is unacceptable…_

They stood in silence, contemplating the view. Spock felt ill at ease, unsure of what to say next but desperate to keep the conversation going. Should he remark upon the weather or the excellent views, should he comment on the mix of Earth and Vulcan decor in her private sitting rooms, should he compliment her efforts to keep a wet-planet observatory (her own private haven, cultivating various species of roses and orchids), her appreciated donations of seedling and selective samples to the wet-planet observatory at the Vulcan Science Academy or perhaps he should –

She spoke first, "Do you like Terran culture, Seriyk?"

_There is no like or dislike, which signifies an objective emotional response – it is topic that I find of interest, nothing more…_

"I understand you work for the Department of Xenoculture and, since you're acting as Miss Nyota's liaison I presume that your work involves the study of Terran Earth and Humans – tell me if I'm wrong."

_Vulcans do not lie… lying is illogical…_

"You are correct. Though I would say that I study them, I cannot claim that I have achieved understanding. I do however, thrive on the challenge."

_But as I am half-Human… the record remains untarnished…_

It drew another smile from her, as cryptic as the last; the sight of it gladdened him.

"What is your current focus?"

He inclined his head, looking away from her. Though on the surface he was calm, Spock knew that his heart was beating beyond its normal range. He imagined that if he were younger, he would have most probably shown emotion or indeed, done something unwise…

"I am interested in the purpose and nuances of small talk."

" _Small talk?"_ Her genuine surprise and pleasure at his answer gave him a feeling of satisfaction.

"Yes, it is a constant among many Human interactions, and one I find compelling."

"Fascinating…" She said with a soft lilt in her voice, "My son would disagree."

_That is untrue, Mother… all I had were you and the visitors from the diplomatic corps posted on Vulcan as examples… I never had the experience of Human friendship… my Vulcan classmates, their disapproval…_

"Then I do pity him, for he is most certainly missing out."

A look of realization fluttered across her face before she gave him a delighted grin, "Seriyk, are you making _small talk_?"

_Does it please you…? I learnt this from my Human friends… Jim, also my captain aboard the Enterprise, is particularly insistent that I learn this social art. He is especially proficient at small talk – you must meet him one day, Mother, you have never met him…_

He ducked his head in a brief sign of affirmation, "Yes, Lady Amanda, should I stop?"

"No! No!" She shook her head, "Please, continue."

"Then, with your permission," He mentally marshaled his strength and turned to face her, "I think the sitting room was excellently arranged to mix both Vulcan and Terran tastes. It was aesthetically pleasing, and very stimulating."

"Why, thank you." She murmured, with something akin to – he noted with surprise – awe in her voice.

"I have also heard that you are an excellent gardener.'

Her awe disappeared, replaced with curiosity and bemusement, "Yes, do you enjoy gardening?"

Spock gripped the stone-brick railing of the elevated terrace, and forced away his reflexive response. "I am afraid not, however, I do have a close colleague who is interested in botany, and I find the smell and sight of damask roses to be most pleasing… I understand that you are to be thanked for the contribution of that species to the Vulcan Science Academy."

He remembered the smell of damask roses, sitting in a vase on the dinner table; superfluous, inconvenient, its presence illogical, fragrant and beautiful, like many of the things his mother enjoyed.

She laughed, a light floating sound, one that he rarely heard. Her expressions, always so demure around him, barely more than a touch or a smile, even when her eyes showed clearly that she wanted to touch him, wanted to hug him and hold him; but no, the disapproval for her Human ways as he became older cut between them like a shroud. The grief which had submerged itself under his rage and satisfaction at Nero's demise emerged once more, sweeping through him and making him feel weak.

His mother grinned broadly at him and clapped, "You, Seriyk, are a most singular young Vulcan."

He bowed in his head in acknowledgement, and managed to gain enough control over his vocal cords to murmur, "Thank you, Lady Amanda, I shall take that as a compliment."

"I think my son could learn a lot from you," A frown settled over her face, "I would have liked you to meet him."

"I am sure I would have found the experience fascinating."

"May I ask you something personal, Seriyk?" The sight of his mother's uncertainty dug into him, as a thorn would in tender flesh. At his silent assent, she turned back to the panoramic view of the distant desert, eyes moving sightlessly over shrubs and rocks, "Why do you study Humans? Why do you prefer Humans over Andorians or even Klingons? What _is_ there to study?"

_Mother, you underestimate yourself… you were always endlessly fascinating… I never thought to belittle you… Humans – you, Nyota, Jim, Doctor McCoy… you confused me… they confuse me… I was uncertain and I remain uncertain… I am…_

She paused but did not stop. "My husband has made it his lifelong career to get along with my people, but he didn't take on this task by choice. While he will constantly seek to understand Humans intellectually, I do not feel that it is something he would have chosen to spent his time on if he were not the Vulcan ambassador to Earth - do you understand my meaning?"

In the distance, the sun inched closer and closer to its zenith point. Beside him, his mother stood tall and straight, looking every bit like a Vulcan lady in her simple and elegant robes, despite her undeniably Human eyes. She waited for an answer.

"If I may quote an elder: Vulcans don't know what to do about Humans – of all the species we've made contact with, Humans are the only one whom Vulcans cannot define; you have the arrogance of Andorians, the stubborn pride of Tellarites, one moment you're as driven by your emotions as Klingons, and the next, you confound us by suddenly embracing logic."*

A wistful smile crept over her face, "A quote from Soval is it not?"

He nodded.

Her smile turned sad, "My son has never read his works – I was planning on purchasing an anthology for him… a birthday present."

_It was a wonderful present, Mother…_

Spock stared at the peaks of distant mountains, unable to look at her anymore. The urge to reassure the woman who was and was not his mother was overwhelming, and yet he did nothing: Vulcan control must come first. ' _More like Vulcan apathy_!" the voice of Doctor McCoy snarled at his resolve but Spock held firm). The Temporal Prime Directive must be upheld for their mission to be a success. And the mission _must_ be a success, for if they succeed then 6 billion lives will be saved. Vulcan will live...

_And Mother will live._

The thought rested deep inside him, overwhelming all others.

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Commander Christopher Pike stood in front of the office windows and stared out onto the quadrangle lawns as they became flooded with students rushing to their next class. He noted with dark amusement that they were all cautious to avoid the gleaming hoverbike parked somewhat carelessly in the middle of said lawns. One young woman was smiling coyly at a fellow student, both of them sitting under the shade tucked away in one of the quieter areas, their PADDs out but untouched. Well, he thought dryly, they weren't going to get any studying done that way. Behind him, Winona moved onto the recording of the second interview.

_"I heard you wanted to see me."_

_"Yes sir – I mean-"_ The young man had closed his eyes, wincing before looking back up, everything about him equally desperate and earnest. _"Look, you gotta believe me-"_

 _"Yes… sir? Young man, I have never met you before in my life."_ Except for how familiar the boy had seemed, sitting across from him in the interview room. Pike was certain he'd never met the young man in his life and yet there was something about him, that attitude, that nose, that jaw and chin. Pike had watched the recording three times. That face… it was as if a thought was just skittering at the edge of his consciousness out of reach… and if only he could reach it...

 _"I know that sir, I mean-"_ The same wince and shake of the head, as if he had been clearing his mind or fighting with someone in his own head. _"Look just – I got to talk to you. It's important."_

 _"Right… important_ …" Pike winced, hearing the mocking tone he had used replayed. In hindsight, it seemed petty and unnecessary. " _Because you're from the future, is that right?"_

He heard the sound of Winona leaning closer to the screen, the chair squeaking just a little. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was watching this recording with the same intensity as she would a replay of a battle simulation.

 _"Yes, no! I mean-! It's not how it sounds!"_ The young man clenched his fists at this point, his quiet frustration etched into his brow. Pike had gotten the feeling when they were face to face that there were a lot more words that the young man would have preferred to use, had used on other officers who'd tried to talk to him, but seemed to be holding back for him.

_"Look, kid, I'll be clear with you: I don't have time for games. Who are you and who are you working for? You're Human – we've scanned you twice – and you're definitely Terran Human, with no genetic tampering or modifcations, so what is it? Is this for money? Are you in some kind of trouble? Someone blackmailing you?"_

_"God I wish."_ There had been a sardonic chuckle, _"No, no and no. I work for Starfleet."_

_"I've looked you up in the face-recognition system. According to Starfleet you don't exist."_

The kid had grinned and wagged a finger at him like this was some sort of game, _"Not yet I don't."_

The commander rolled his eyes; even hours later the young man's audacity still amazed him, how he had joked and smiled as if the interrogation had been nothing more than a conversation between old friends, which come to think of it, if he actually believed the kid it might have been…

_"I don't think you understand the nature of the charges that are laid against you. Espionage, even suspected espionage, is a serious crime – if convicted you could be looking at twenty or thirty years. You do know that don't you?"_

_"Do I look like a spy? I am trying to – argh!"_

_"Yes? Say what you mean, son."_

There had a terse pause while the man searched his face, an odd expression crossing his features. Hours later, that look, that haunted, hopeful, pitying, _knowing_ look, stayed with Pike and made him wonder what the hell happened in the future. The image of the young man in his mind sharply exhaled in time with the sound from the recording, and slumped back in his chair, weary. _"I can't."_

_"Can't or won't?"_

A dry laugh had been the immediate response, _"You think I'm having you on don't you? You think I'm crazy!"_

 _"I don't know,"_ The thought had crossed his mind, but then so had the possibility that everything he was sprouting was in fact the truth; Pike didn't know which one meant more trouble for Starfleet. _"That remains to be seen. Think you can answer a few of my questions?"_

A shuffling noise – if Pike recalled correctly, their suspect had crossed his arms and looked away, more like an unrepentant child than anyone capable of espionage, _"Yeah, whatever."_

_"Do you know or are you in any way in affiliation with the unidentified vessel that the planetary defense system picked up six months ago, Stardate 2245.15.09?"_

That had gotten the young man's attention. Pike had filed this away but hours later, he still wasn't sure what to make of the reaction he'd seen, _"No but see, that is very, very interesting – and it's the sort of thing that I want to talk about. Look I –"_

_"Are you in any way shape or form connected to the disappearance of James Tiberius Kirk?"_

A stilted laugh had been his answer, _"What? Are you kidding? The answer's **no**."_ The young man had leaned forwards then, eyes almost menacing as he spat the word into Pike's face, _"I wasn't anywhere near Earth around that time – well, not really. Look, these questions are dumb –"_

_"Dumb? Young man, let me repeat myself: espionage carries a penalty of twenty to thirty years at a -'_

_"HEY, I heard you the first time."_ The young man had thumbed his nose, sniffing as he leaned on the table, sliding back to his casual slouch. Delinquent, the word flashed through Pike's brain; he wondered if Winona was thinking the same thing as she watched. _"And would you tell the shrink behind that glass to go away? I'm not crazy – so there's nothing to see. You can also tell the Intel officers to go too – plus the doctor who's monitoring my vitals,"_ The man had waved two fingers lazily in the air, craning his neck to look at the mirror glass behind Pike, mocking them. _"Hey, find anything interesting?"_

Pike took a deep breath, recalling the unsettled feeling that overcame him at this point in the interview. _"You seem to know a lot about a standard interrogation. Have you been through many?"_

_"No, not really."_

_"Why don't you enlighten me as to how you know that there is a doctor watching you?"_

_"Yeah well, I was awake when we covered Regulation 891."_ The cocky grin had thrown him off, but it's the words that disturbed him; Regulation 891 was a major case study of Command Protocol for all final year cadets and was definitely _not_ included in the brochure for prospective students. _"Look, would you just listen to what I'm saying-"_

_"How do you know about Regulation 891?"_

_"The same way you know. I went to the Academy."_

_"And I repeat: there is no record of you."_

_"And let me repeat myself: of course you say that, it hasn't happened yet."_ The tone, light and teasing, grated on his nerves even now hours after the fact.

Through his office window Pike's eyes followed the figures of Admiral Barratt and Admiral Chandra as they ascended the stairs to the main auditorium to perform their duties for the very first time as members of the Academy board. He was meant to be there, to take part in the fanfare, but was pulled off for this. He didn't mind particularly; it was a hell of a lot more interesting than a ceremony welcoming new cadets. Behind him, the recording continued to play from his desk display.

_"Well, do they still have names in the future?"_

A grimace had been the initial response, but the young man had finally grated out a reluctant: _"Jim."_

Winona shifted uneasily, making the chair creak. Pike turned just to the left, catching the slightest hint of her from the corner of his eye. She leaned forwards, the flats of her palms pressed against the edge of his table, her entire body frozen as she poured all her attention onto the small display lighting up the middle of his workspace.

_"Okay. Jim. Hi I'm Chris, nice to meet you. Tell me, which local or inter-planetary government lists you as a resident?"_

The young man had shaken his head, _"I'm sorry, look, I just can't go into it, but-but I can prove to you that I'm telling the truth."_

 _"That you're from the future?"_ That had not been his most professional moment.

_"Yes. Look, okay, okay, ahh you were born on… on October 5th 2204! You joined Starfleet in 2223, and later, you did your dissertation on the USS Kelvin –"_

_"That's common knowledge, Jim; anyone can find that stuff through a computer."_

_"Yeah but you did it for – I mean, George Kirk, sir– I mean, Chris – he ran the Tactics tutorials back when you were just a cadet and you knew him, you were even at his funeral. You're a huge fan of Doctor Daystrom's work, you've even met him once, on Earth Colony 2 when you sneaked off and-"_

_"Okay, stop there. So you heard of me. That doesn't mean you're from the future."_

THUMP! The young man had shot to his feet and slammed his hands on the table, glaring at him with all the authority of a Starfleet officer going into battle. Definitely trained; that was Pike's conclusion, having re-watched that scene several times in the last two hours.

 _"I… am… with… the… D… T… Fucking… I – and if you don't believe me, well then I'll just have to prove it and hope the universe doesn't collapse meanwhile."_ There was a screech of the chair legs as the man dropped down into his seat, lazing back in a show of defiance, _"So… the draft for the Constitution-class starship has already been approved. It's currently being revised by the Department of Science. Design specs include a deck five being outfitted with enforced –"_

Most of the soliloquy had been censored, because even if it was a crazy man giving the talk, the talk he had given was meant to be classified.

_"- and oh, oh, I even know your command code! It's –" There was a short burst of static as the censors blocked out his command code, "-and I know Admiral Chan-"_

The recording switched off with an abruptness that startled him. It wasn't the end but Winona had obviously seen enough.

"Well?" He asked, clasping his hands behind his back, eyes following the progress of student in plain clothes walking towards the nearest shuttle stop, "Do you believe him?"

It was crazy and Pike had his doubts but that was _his_ command code, which he received last month after being promoted – hell he hasn't even had a chance to use it yet – and the kid knew some stuff that was so classified no one under the rank of captain should know.

"Chris, I… don't know."

"Don't know? Come on Winona, what's your gut feeling?'

She had been in this business longer than him. Starfleet veterans, especially those used to being out there alone in the darkness usually trusted their guts when nothing else made sense – and they usually had a knack for getting it right. There was a long silence, and then Winona was beside him, staring out onto the green lawns – the crowd had thinned as classes were in session, so only a few cadets sat around, enjoying the sunlight.

"I think…" She exhaled quietly, "I think he's telling the truth, Chris, crazy as it may be."

He nodded, "It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that his name is Jim and he could be a Kirk, if you looked past the hair."

Winona wrapped her arms around herself, not looking at him. They'd been out of contact for many years - his quick succession of promotions, serving at the shipyard in the Vulcan system; her duty to her sons, remarriage, and one deep space mission after another, supporting Frank - but standing there together, it was easy, like they'd been out of touch. The fluid slenderness that had held his attention as a raw cadet on the Lunar base now seemed more gaunt then anything but her eyes still burned with enough passion and intelligence to intimidate him. Pike shook his head; now certainly wasn't the time to be thinking along those lines…

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-"

"No, it's okay," She managed a tired smile, "I saw it myself."

A beat of silence followed before Winona turned to him and visibly collected herself. "What's going to happen to them?"

"I don't know." He honestly didn't, "I guess we'll have to wait until the tests come back."

Winona nodded slowly, mulling over his words. "Well, then I guess I'll get going," She leaned closer and staring at his faded reflection on the glass, paused before brushing her dry lips against Pike's cheek, "It was good to see you, Chris, take care."

And then she left, the door hissing close behind her. Christopher Pike stared after her, surprised that she would leave without seeing this to the end after that little performance to weasel her way into his office. Not a moment later there was a beep at his door. He turned back, half-expecting to see Winona charging back in with another favor to demand.

"Enter."

The door slid open to reveal Doctor Casgrain, "I have the results you wanted, Commander." She gave him a troubled look, "You're not going to believe this, but we ran the sequence _twice_."

"What is it, Toni?"

The gray-haired doctor handed over the PADD with a pinched look to her face, "I cross referenced their DNA with all Starfleet personnel we have on file, sir. As you know, we started doing that back during the 2160s, and well… you're not going to believe what we found."

Pike scanned the names and faces of the DNA matches, "You can't be serious."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ENTERPRISE: The Forge (#4.7) (2004) - when Spock quotes Ambassador Soval, I wasn't making it up. It's ENT canon.


	9. Chapter 9

_Planet-side: Vulcan, ShiKahr City, Artisan Quarters, year 2246_

Spock ascended the winding staircase carved directly from the rocks. It was a familiar path and led to the old Mahr-kel, built high within the crumbling battlements of an ancient fortress that encompassed half the city, and had been in his youth, a preferred place of leisure. He had fond memories of many languid late winter afternoons spent here with his parents when he had been very young, following them as they purchased scrolls and paper-bound books. The vendors here were some of the oldest and most respected in the whole ShiKahr and it would have been amiss of him to not make the journey. The reason for his visit was rather personal, but it was also necessary; one of the mission objectives given to the _Enterprise_ had been to collect samples and specimens from Vulcan, in preparation for the event that their mission would be a failure and –

Spock stopped abruptly, pivoting back around to the businesses he had just passed. There was a display on political figures in the last two centuries at a familiar book vendor, in fact – yes. With some hesitation, he edged closer and examined several volumes stacked along the middle shelf. It was an anthology of writings by several authors, including several well-known Human historians… a biographical account of Ambassador Soval, with a particular focus on his contribution to relations with Earth and participation in the Council of Babel, the protean organzation that led to the United Federation of Planets. It was… this book… Spock picked it thoughtfully.

_My son has never read his works – I was planning on purchasing an anthology for him… a birthday present…_

In his timeline, he distinctively remembered the anthology being a gift from Mother, given on a day in that had not been significant by Vulcan or Earth's calendar; he had returned from school, and it had been there, waiting for him upon his study desk. Spock ran a hand along the spine thoughtfully.

"Sulu to Spock. Come in please," His communicator click-chirped.

Spock put the book down as if he had been burnt and ducked into the alcove doorway of a closed instrument shop. Checking that no one was paying attention, he flipped his communicator open. "Spock here. Report, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Sulu's voice was harsh through the small speakers, panting breaths distorting his words. "We've completed collecting the botanical samples in the first list, sir, and the second team has just beamed down."

"Excellent," He affirmed, pleased that they were ahead of schedule. "Proceed with the rest of the collection."

"Aye-aye sir – will you be returning to the ship, sir?"

Spock turned and gazed upon the book vendor. His purpose in coming here was to purchase certain works for archival purposes, and the anthology…

"Negative, Lieutenant. I am currently occupied with the task of collecting Vulcan cultural artifacts."

"Understood, sir, do you require any assistance?"

Spock was tempted for a moment to call for Nyota to join him, as her linguistic expertise would certainly be useful in this situation. But no, he reminded himself firmly that she was technically not cleared for away missions, and that visit to his ancient home had been anomalous. Spock allowed himself a moment of reluctant gratitude. Yesterday, there had been a moment where his control had been in need of assistance, which Nyota provided adequately but... no – he should do this alone. "Unnecessary, Lieutenant – please inform the transporters to be ready to beam items aboard upon my orders."

"Yes sir, Sulu out."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Christopher Pike locked his office door and taking a deep measured breath, tucked the datapad securely under his arm. He wasn't sure what this meant yet; the DNA matches to Starfleet officers running back four generations, the physician who wasn't where he was supposed to be, the young man named "Jim", the Starfleet training... _Someone_ had to be told, the only problem was who.

The Bolian yeoman hurried over, his thick bushy eyebrows drawn in a frown. "Sir, there's a –"

"Not now, Naido," Pike said tersely.

Reading his face, the yeoman nodded nervously and got the hell out of his way.

Pike headed for the nearest stairs, ignoring the lifts. The last thing he needed was to be in a small enclosed space with a bunch of noisy cadets. He felt like beating the hell out of something and going down the stairs helped disperse a little of that nervous energy. He'd left his office without a plan and even now his mind was spinning, trying to figure out where to start, who to begin with.

Pike paused as he exited the building, blinking at the dramatic change from the light-controlled interiors. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust in the afternoon glare. He eyed the spires of Starfleet Intelligence off three hundred meters to the east. He frowned; no, the last thing he needed was for his two captives to be carted away under dubious jurisdiction and never heard from again.

"Hey."

He spun around in surprise at that familiar voice. "Winona," He said, hiding his dismay – oh crap, not now.

Winona Kirk smiled, leaning back against her hoverbike. Suddenly the image of that young man, "Jim", collided with hers. Pike looked away.

"What are you still doing here?" He asked, masking his irritation. Telling her was _not_ in the plan. The Temporal Prime Directive applied here; Pike felt a slight tremor run through his body as he flashed back to the results from the DNA screens.

"Chris, hey… look, um. Sorry, about that, earlier," Her smile turned apologetic; she hooked her hands in her hip pockets. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Pike looked at her, wondering if she was onto him. The woman gave him a wry smile, then at his non-response, furrowed her brow in confusion. Finally she shrugged, palms open at her sides. ' _What_?' She drawled, arching one eyebrow.

"Sorry, Winona, but I'm on official business." _And I don't want to get you involved_ , Pike added silently.

"Ah, well…" She looked skywards in an exasperated gesture, "Sure, look, I'll be staying in the Green Wing, so look me up later tonight okay? I'm going to go see if I can catch Barnett."

"Sure," He nodded, smiling tightly.

She was barely two steps away when someone stepped up to him from behind, startling him badly.

"Commander Pike?"

Pike turned on his heel sharply and eyed the two security officers, trying to figure out what they wanted. The collar of his uniform tightened a little.

"Yes?"

"Commander Pike," The female Edosian trilled softly, still managing somehow to sound stern despite the lyrical quality of her voice, "We have a message for you from Starfleet Command, sir."

"What's this about?" Winona demanded at his side, instinctively protective.

The Edosian's head, bobbing high on that elongated neck, swung around to blink at her. "It is private, sir," she trilled, "Priority One seal… I'm sorry but if you could come with us please, Commander Pike."

The look on the face of the other security officer said it clearly; he was coming with them, whether he liked it or not. He felt the sweat collect uncomfortably down his back as his collar tightened just a little more. Pike glanced back at Winona, uneasy. He didn't know if he was going to like this or not, but he had a gut instinct that it had something to do with the two guys in detention; even though he wished that he could get her opinion on it, a Priority One seal meant that the message was for his eyes, and _only_ his eyes. He eyed the phasers clearly displayed on the officer's hip holsters.

"It was good to see you, Commodore..." He murmured, "Excuse me."

* * *

_In stationary position behind Charis: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura took a deep breath of cool ventilated air as the ship's transporter room appeared around her. Alongside her, three members of Security also took equally deep breaths of relief, before immediately starting to complain about sand in their boots. She caught the eyes of the female technician on the transporter controls and they shared a grin. Nurse Chapel and one of the doctors stood in front of them, medical tricorders chirping in light lilting tones as they were checked for the standard planet-side pathogens.

"All clear," Nurse Chapel proclaimed.

She smiled at the woman and excused herself for a shower and a long nap. Thank goodness she wouldn't be on bridge duty again till 0800 hours tomorrow shipboard time – the experience of trekking through a Vulcan town and back to collect samples had pretty much wiped her out; not to mention their emotionally charged meeting with Lady Amanda. She had not seen Spock around but according to Sulu he was working on compiling the cultural archives. _Good_ , Uhura thought firmly, she was the last person who would recommend work as a way to deal with emotional backlash but right here right now, Spock needed to keep it together.

_Oh, where is Kirk when you need him?_

She allowed a wry smile at her thoughts, which only seemed to turn to Kirk when they were in a crisis. It was undeniable though; the man had a way with crisis situations – his usually infuriating attitude of taking everything lightly was an unexpected blessing during a crisis.

"Miss Uhura, Miss Uhura!"

She turned back from the open turbolift doors and blinked at the young ensign running towards her at full speed, "Chekov! What's wrong?"

Bearing a PADD in one hand, and an empty mug of coffee in the other, Pavel Chekov looked like he hadn't slept in 72 hours, hair a mess and uniform looking less than regulation. Rather than frothing in a panic as his initial cry suggestion, he was grinning at her infectiously, wired from caffeine or sugar and quite possibly both. "Miss Uhura, I believe I can find the Romulan vessel! No, that's not right, I mean!' Chekov squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, fingers pinching at his nose and many a lines of Russian were mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. Finally he hit his forehead and met her concern gaze with a feverish smile, "No, no I mean I have a way of getting the Romulan vessel to find us! Yes!"

The Russian beamed at her, "We can make the Romulan vessel find us."

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Sarek's Estate, year 2246_

Spock approached with wariness the doors which he had stood outside only a day's cycle before. It was late afternoon, well past the time when visitations were to be expected (and indeed welcomed), but he had been unable to come any earlier. Nyota had been quite devious in her attempts to keep track of his activities, and conveniently disrupt them for her purposes; it was only by keeping her occupied with the task of properly catagorizing all the data records they had collected in their archival effort that prevented her from following him. In the future Spock was quite certain that she would make an excellent intelligence officer.

He hefted the weighty paper-bound volume under his left arm, reminded of the purpose for this anomalous visitation. If others knew what he was doing, he suspected they would not approve, and yet Spock was certain that if given the chance to explain, the captain would agree with him – _Jim_ would agree with him. The timeline had to be preserved, and while this was seemingly insignificant, perhaps even frivolous, it was… Spock brought the book before him and ran his right hand along the spine, which being held together via parchment-threading – an old Vulcan handicraft – had meant that the stitching on each was unique. And this book was without doubt the one Mother had given him, the pale blue twill used, the stitching done in the Flowing-Water pattern.

Ringing the archaic doorbell, Spock stepped back down to the lower landing to await a response. It came swifter than he expected, considering the late hour of the morning.

"Yes, may I be of assistance?" The female voice was soft-spoken and unexpected.

Spock froze in shock but quickly schooled his features to be neutral. Internally, he berated himself – Naomi! How could he forget her! She had been Father's chief of staff from when he was young till after he left for Starfleet, when she finally left to take up a civilian liaison position at the main Starfleet base on Vulcan. "Yes," He said, surprised at the sound of his own voice, steady and clear, "I am Seriyk, of the Department of Xenoculture, Vulcan sub-branch. Is Lady Amanda available?"

Sloe-eyed, Naomi examined him for a moment before replying with a business-like smile, "I'm terribly sorry, but she is not available for guests at the moment – would you like me to pass on a message?"

Spock inclined his head, "That would be-" _Disappointing_ , his mind whispered, "-acceptable." He slipped the anthology from beneath his desert cloak and placed it in the woman's hands. Though he had hoped to give it to her himself, there was no logical reason for him to insist on personally delivering the item. "Please present this to Lady Amanda, with my thanks for her hospitality. Miss Uhura sends apologies for – for the family emergency."

Not a complete lie, but certainly not the truth… Spock wondered if their mission could be considered a 'family emergency.' Perhaps, he concluded, by a very broad definition. Naomi took the paper-bound book with the gentleness he had presented it, her eyes casually skimming the title. The Human gave him a probing look, her face as composed as he recalled. She was well-adapted to life on Vulcan, and in hindsight, it seemed perfectly logical that she had stayed till her death. At that thought, Spock felt a deep sadness – Naomi had been one of the many casualties in the destruction of Vulcan, having stayed behind to assist in evacuations till the very last moment. Her name, as well as the names of many other off-worlders, had now been memorized in a monument on the grounds of the Federation Council and New Vulcan, but seeing her again brought to the forefront of Spock's consciousness that Nero had not just torn apart the lives of the Vulcan people.

"I'll be sure to give her your message, Seriyk," She paused, obviously holding herself back from interrogating him as was her habit. "Is there any way for Lady Amanda to contact you?"

Spock shook his head, a sense of heaviness lifting off him. It was done. "Thank you but I require no –"

"Seriyk!"

The call was loud and high. Spock took a startled step back before his senses honed in on the source and he looked up. Naomi leaned out from the doorway, her neck craning as she looked up also. Waving from the upper terrace which circled the private family bedrooms, his mother smiled down at them.

"Seriyk, what a surprise!" The sight of her, awash in the warm orange light of the afternoon was… familiar. "Oh, wait a moment. I'll be right down."

Spock nodded his assent and felt a flutter through him as she flashed him a quick smile. He realized with some discomfort that Naomi was watching him closely. As chief of staff, Naomi had been a constant in his life up to the time he had left Vulcan for Starfleet Academy; she was as familiar as family, and indeed, knew him well. Unlike Mother though, her duties meant that she was trained to remember names and faces, and to put them in the right context when it was required. If anyone were to recognize him through this flimsy disguise, it would be her.

She smiled politely, her brows furrowing, "Have we met before?"

Spock met the woman's curious gaze, "Perhaps. I have been to several functions held here at the ambassador's estate."

"I see…" Naomi said, but did not stop her study of his features.

With a clatter steps, Mother appeared in a simple grey twill robe – her casual clothing, Spock recognized, usually worn when she was doing nothing in particular at home, except perhaps some cooking or tending to her much-loved flowers. "Seriyk," she breathed, slightly winded from her swift descent, "What a surprise. I received the message regarding Miss Uhura."

Mother fixed him with a look of genuine concern, "Is she alright?"

"She is well and has left Vulcan."

That was, Spock mused to himself, technically true; the lieutenant was aboard the _Enterprise_ , hidden in stationary orbit behind Charis.

"I am not at liberty to discuss her personal matters further."

Mother nodded, "Of course."

He glanced away, unable to carry on this conversation though he knew that the silence was by Human standards unbearably awkward. Though purchasing the book had been part of his mission, this meeting was bordering on a Temporal Directive violation and could not be allowed to continue.

"I have brought something, for you." He said, his words thick and stilted, "For – for your son."

Naomi passed the paper-bound volume over to Mother. Her expression went from curiosity to one of genuine surprise. "Seriyk, you shouldn't have," Her voice was quiet, but her small smile reassured her that he had not made the incorrect decision.

"It seemed appropriate," He murmured, "I believe my Human colleagues would approve."

Mother's smile became wistful. "Thank you… well, then!" Her tone lightened, "I must give you something in return."

It was enough to risk being recognized, which would be considered a contamination of the timeline, but to actively influence and participate in events that could have wider impacts, was a definite violation of principles set forth in the Temporal Pride Directive. This was his cue to leave. "I mean no imposition –"

"Nonsense," His mother chided, her voice high and sharp; the sound of it was so familiar that it shocked him into a temporary silence. She raised a finger and tapped the air thoughtfully, eyes narrowed as a grin stretched her lips. "I have just the thing- oh please allow me to offer you some refreshment, the climb here must not have been easy. Naomi?" His mother turned to the waiting chief of staff and gestured vaguely in the direction of what Spock knew was their kitchen, "Some water please."

Naomi bowed her head to both of them as per Vulcan custom, slipped around his mother's figure and disappeared into the house proper. Spock opened his mouth to protest but was unable to speak when his mother halted him with a hand, emphatically waving away whatever he might have said.

"It's no trouble at all, really, Seriyk. And yes I think I know exactly what to give you." With a bright smile and another thoughtful tap of a finger at him, Mother turned and swiftly disappeared, book clutched to her chest.

"I insist, Lady Amanda!" He protested, as much as he dared in his current cover identity. But she ignored him. Looking skyward, he gritted his teeth in a lapse of control and followed.

"Lady Amanda?" He passed the entrance to the public receiving room and startled Naomi who almost dropped her tray of drinks. A familiar wave of irritation came upon him along with all the requisite thoughts, full of childish vigor and ire: _Mother, it is illogical to deny my request due to your insistence that I do not know myself, that is an emotional claim and I am- I am not showing my stiff upper lip – whatever that is!_

"I require no recompense for my gift. Your gratitude is more than an adequate response, as well as the knowledge of your son's enjoyment. I am-" Spock froze in front of the open doors to the wet-planet observatory. The smell hit him a moment later, and filled his chest with such overwhelming nostalgia he almost visibly flinched. Spock swallowed thickly, struggling for composure as a dull pain made itself known.

He had grossly miscalculated.

He had completely forgotten himself, unacceptable for a Starfleet officer of his rank. This was not his home; he was a stranger and he should not have abandoned etiquette in coming in here uninvited.

Yet, for a moment he had forgotten. This… Spock let his eyes drift longingly over the potted succulents, the smooth volcanic stone pathways and the impressionistic statue in the corner rendered into the vague shape of a hominid sitting... this was all _so familiar_.

"It's not as fancy as what you've given me, but I think you'll like it."

He turned abruptly at the sound of her voice. Slowly, his feet took him to where she was felt even as his thoughts became chaotic and indecisive.

Spock felt the immediate difference as he stepped into observatory from the courtyard. In comparison with the outdoors, it was humid and cool, causing Spock to shiver. She stood behind her work bench, gloves on, with a gleaming cerulean glazed pot waiting to be made a home and her nursery rack to the side. With a small spade in hand, she deftly loosened one of the flowering plants from its home in the rack and transferred it to the old-fashioned pot. The image of her, doing this a hundred other times, passed before Spock's eyes. With a smile, she delicately added several thimbles of various chemical mixtures including fertilizer to the rehoused greenery, and then smoothed the dirt down with her gloved hands, patting around the plant.

"There," she pronounced with satisfaction, and stripping off the gardening gloves, held the pot up for his inspection, "Perfect."

It was...a miniature rose plant, the small buds pink and delicate and…

Spock received the pot stiffly as she thrust it before him.

"Damask miniatures, a gift from the VSA, developed from my contribution of the species." She met his surprised gaze with a warm smile, "Was I too forward in presuming that you'll appreciate it?"

The pot was cool to the touch, and the scent of the roses, was sweet and… Spock cleared his throat, "You are too kind, thank you."

Her smile grew. Suddenly his communicator chirped, startling him. Spock took a hissed breath, reminded of why he was here; the _Enterprise_ , the mission that his captain had charged him with, Jim's trust in his ability to perform admirably despite his intimate knowledge of Spock's weakness (how susceptible he was to becoming emotionally compromised, part of him muttered acerbically, despite having chosen the Vulcan path) and –

He had to leave, _now_.

"I apologize but I must take my leave."

There was a faint edge of disappointment when she smiled, but she nodded, "I understand. Then I bid you farewell.'

With a curt nod, he turned and strode towards the door, bowing his head slightly as he passed Naomi who had not lost of her suspicion towards him. Only when he was outside the courtyard doors, did breathing become easier for him. He held the pot before him, uncertain of how to hold it, if he should keep it at all and… the communicator chirped again, eroding at his already disturbed composure.

"Seriyk."

Spock paused at the sound of her voice. He turned slowly, apprehensive. Framed by the doorway, Mother held her hand up in the traditional Vulcan salute and smiled that cryptically bemused smile characteristic of her, "Live long and Prosper."

Holding up his hand to return the gesture, he bowed his head, "Peace and Long Life, Lady Amanda."

"I hope you'll drop by sometime, to see my son… when he's back."

Spock met her eyes, and wondered how she was able to keep her emotions in check, to present oneself as composed, smiling, in sound mind. It was strength that he did not have, had not had when he lost her, and was struggling to find now faced with her goodbye. Spock averted his eyes, unable to keep up the pretense of his indifference. He struggled to keep his face neutral and succeeded only in frowning. She waited for an answer.

"Yes," He nodded curtly, "I shall look forwards to it. Fair day, Lady Amanda."

Pivoting on his heel, Spock descended the stairs swiftly. When he was within a safe distance, he took out his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise, one to beam up."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Commander Christopher Pike unlocked his office with a sense of foreboding, and surreptitiously shook his head at the yeomen who approached - with an ease that deserved a commendation, she smoothly changed her course and wandered back to the reception desk. Letting the two officers inside, he covertly gestured for privacy; Naido gave a slight nod and the buzz at the front desk continued as normal. As soon as the door slid close, the two officers immediately panned out, one going around to his desk console, the other one riffling through the stack of datapads he had haphazardly thrown in an open–

"HEY!" Pike yelled in alarm. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

Snatching back a datapad from the Edosian, he eyed the scramblers in their hands warily. "You said you had sealed orders – give them to me and get the hell out of my office."

He didn't have a reputation for being impatient, but he was going to tear someone a new one if they didn't explain what the hell was going on. This was obviously an attempt by somebody to sabotage his efforts to approach a member of Command with his findings. The Edosian opened her mouth but then hesitated, tilting her head to the side at her companion as though she wanted a conference first.

"Lieutenants," He said sharply, "Unless you give me those sealed orders right now, I will turn around and go back to what I was doing. I don't take kindly to being interrupted without purpose."

The two officers exchanged knowing looks. The Edosian female stepped forward and withdrew a mini-pad from her belt, "Your orders, sir."

Eying the two officers to make sure those scramblers stayed where they were, he took the miniturized PADD and keyed in his code. Pike blinked at the display. The logo of Starfleet Intelligence flashed momentarily in blue and white, then A-R-C-H-E-R filled the screen along a set of code words and phrases before it went dark, automatically shutting down. No, _no_ this was… Pike slowly met the eyes of the two officers.

"I'm listening," He ground out.

"Any and all information pertaining to the two detainees is effective immediately the sealed property of Starfleet Intelligence, in keeping with the Temporal Prime Directive as set forth by the Department of Temporal Investigations. Access to your computer would be appreciated, sir."

Swallowing down his reflexive response that like hell they would, Pike walked stiffly over to his desk console and unlocked the system. The male officer sat down and withdrawing a bicorder, systematically copied all of his recordings and case notes, as well as the results from the labs. Within thirty seconds, all traces of his investigation into "Jim" and the man claiming to be Leonard McCoy were gone, wiped from his systems and public record.

The man gave him a slight nod, "Thank you for your cooperation, sir."

Pike nodded back gruffly; there wasn't any point to protesting, this was coming straight from the top. The Edosian withdrew something from her belt and held it out to him.

"Your orders, sir…"

Glancing at her and then her partner to make sure that they weren't joking, Pike took the paper envelope and tore it open. There was a note inside. Unfolding it, he scanned the contents and frowned at the note, looked over to the Edosian, then read the message again carefully in case his eyes were deceiving him. A minute later, having verified that he couldn't possibly dream something as ridiculous as this, Pike finally folded the note and slid it back into its original packaging. Looking up at the waiting officers, he smiled mirthlessly, "This is the part where someone jumps out from behind my desk and shouts surprise."

"Starfleet needs your assistance, Commander Pike," The Edosian trilled, hand out for the envelope. Pike handed it over without protest and watched as she placed it on the floor and destroyed it with a controlled blast from her phaser.

"A certain admiral in Starfleet, in a certain branch of Starfleet that doesn't need to be named, is counting on you, sir," the other security officer said quietly.

"No doubt," Pike muttered in his driest voice, "And this… _certain_ admiral's wish is our command."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Jim Kirk twisted around in his cot at the sound of his door opening, blinking blearily at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. He'd been sleeping, waiting for the 24-hour timer on the auto-beam they set up to kick in so he could get out of this place. He never had the pleasure of more than an hour or two at the Academy holding cells because Bones always caved and got him out. After a good twelves hours stuck here though, he was going to have to buy the guy some Saurian brandy when they got out of here - he never knew that the beds here sucked so much!

"Lights."

He scrambled upright. It was Pike, who didn't look happy. Well, Jim mentally drawled, that was an awfully familiar expression. The door closed but there was no electronic grind from the locking mechanism. He shot the man a confused look. What did he want? Another interrogation? His name? To scare him some more with stories about prison in New Zealand? Personally, Jim liked sheep.

"I believe you."

Jim took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, wow, unexpected."

"Get up," Pike ordered flatly, throwing him a cadet uniform, "You're coming with me."

"Wait, are you _breaking me out?_ "

Pike glared, "Shut up and get dressed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get to the action


	10. Chapter 10

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

The lighting down here was at fifty percent to mimic night as there were no windows. This all added to the atmosphere of the holding cells being deep underground, utilitarian and slightly creepy. Jim Kirk pressed himself flat against the wall and peered around the corner before jerking back. There were three guards posted in front of McCoy's cell. Pike tossed him a phaser. Jim almost dropped it in surprise when he caught it; it was almost twice the weight of what he was used to! Admiring the older design, he gave a huff of amusement.

"God, I forgot how heavy these things were."

Pike gave him a withering look and switched his phaser to stun. Jim took another look around the corner. All of the officers had their phaser guns holstered except for one guy, but they were all alert and ready.

"Why does he get all the extra security?" Jim frowned as he pulled back to his previous stance against the wall. "He's a doctor. The only thing he's dangerous with is a hypo-spray."

Pike cocked an eyebrow, "He's also got a temper and knocked out _two_ of his interrogators."

He stared at the older man for a beat, trying to figure out if the man was being serious. Pike's expression didn't change. _Okay_ , that did sound like Bones' reaction to stress – he supposed it was a good thing for those two interrogators that it had only be Bones' fist and not a hypo-spray; Bones could do a lot worse with a hypo-spray. Jim looked down at the phaser, marveling at it even as he checked it over again to make sure it was on stun.

"What's our plan?"

" _My plan_ is for you stay here while I go and talk to them."

Just then, someone came around the far corner, startling them. Panicked, Jim hid the phaser between the wall and his body and pulled at his cadet uniform with the other hand, and drew a temporary blank as to what to do with his hands or how to convince her that he had a legitimate reason to be here. Pike adopted an intimidating pose with his arms folded. He raised eyebrows to draw Jim's attention and mouthed for just to 'play along.'

"Cadet, if I find you drunk in public again, there will be consequences."

Jim almost started laughing. He'd heard that before – in almost exactly the same tone.

"Yes sir," He mumbled, ducking his head in shame and looking to the wall so as to avoid his face being seen.

The security officer walked by them with a quick nod and smile for Pike, only sparing Jim a glance of passing interest. The commander returned her greeting, putting on a good pretense of distraction.

"Is she gone yet?" Jim asked under his breath, still not daring to raise his head.

Pike raised a hand for him to stay quiet.

"You're on community service duty, 0700 every Saturday till further notice."

The woman rounded the next corner and disappeared into the turbolift there.

"All clear. Let's do this."

Before Jim could ask again what the plan was, Pike tore off the cover for the lock mechanism of a nearby office and slipped inside, coming out moments later bearing two PADDs, older than the current standard Academy issue ones Jim was used to.

"What are you doing?"

The commander didn't answer as he deftly pried the back panel of one of the PADDs open and pulled out a wire in a move that was too suspiciously well-practice for Jim to keep quiet about. Since this wasn't the time or place to interrogate the man about his unexpected delinquency skills, the younger man just let his eyebrows do the talking.

"Watch and learn."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

"Can I help you sir?"

"I'm here to see the prisoner."

Opening his eyes at the familiar sound of Admiral Pike's voice, Doctor Leonard McCoy sat up and felt a nervous gurgle tumble through his stomach. Oh great, just what he needed – another creepy link to a future they were probably stampeding into amoeba with the way Jim was shooting off delusions of grandeur. "Saved the Federation" _my ass_! Jim had got the shit kicked out of him by a Romulan while that pointy-eared bastard stole the darn black-hole-creating ship and blew up the drill!

"Sir, I'm under strict orders by Admiral Johnson that no one is allowed to see him."

There was a sigh, followed by a slightly exasperated "Lieutenant… see what I'm holding here?"

What was he holding? The doctor tensed in anticipation, focusing all his attention on the conversation through the door.

"You're holding a PADD, sir." The guard sounded uncertain now.

"Hmm," Pike made a gravelly hum of speculation, dry enough to wipe one's hands on – it was nice to see that he knew how to put junior officers in their place even fourteen years ago. "And I guess it didn't occur to you that orders releasing the prisoner into my custody could be on this PADD?'

There was a short silence. McCoy stood up and walked over to face the doors, steeling himself for meeting the admiral – sorry, c _ommander_ – with the same exasperated silence he'd been using to put off all the others that had tried to get him to spill. Honestly, he didn't know how many more damned hours of interrogation he could put up with. He was already dangerously veering towards several Temporal Prime Directive violations that were starting to look very attractive and he really didn't need any more incentive!

The doctor peered through the thin slits that allowed him to talk to the guards. Which, g _ood God_ , was incredibly primitive - in the case of a real medical emergency, the guards wouldn't even know someone was dying in here choking on their own idiotic tongue! McCoy promised to himself that he'd have to see something done about this when they got back, if they got back, to their own Starfleet but soon got distracted by the sight of Pike hold out one of the PADDs he was carrying. The security officers looked at one another, expressions shifting as they considered their options.

Finally one of the guards took the device and touched the button to activate the screen. Arcs of electricity erupted from the PADD; the security officer twitched and then shook violently in a seizure before collapsing in a heap.

The second security officer jerked back from touching the second PADD, "What the-"

There was the sound of a phaser discharging and she froze with a gasp before tumbling to the floor, stunned. There was the shout from the third officer who stood for a moment too shocked by the sight of an attack on his colleagues by people purporting to be Starfleet, before he came to his sense and tried to escape by running the other way. Raising his phaser, Pike shot him in the back without blinking an eyelash.

The doctor's eyes widened; what in _blazes_ was happening!

With a few beeps, the electronic lock turned with a harsh grind and his door poppped.

Leonard McCoy barely had time to gape before being immediately assaulted with a bear hug.

"Bones? Bones! How ya been!"

McCoy rolled his eyes, but patted the younger man on the back, "Should've guessed it was you! Couldn't you have done this the quiet way?"

"Ah, actually this was his idea," Jim beamed like a seven year-old on Christmas morning, jerking a thumb at Commander Pike. The man didn't spare them a glance, single-mindedly stripping phasers and communicators from the unconscious officers.

McCoy gaped, starting to understand why Jim Kirk had a few bolts loose if this was his shining example of a Starfleet mentor. The doctor glared at them, because they were obviously out of their God-given minds. Pike cocked an indifferent eyebrow in response to his accusing look and grabbed the body of the nearest security personnel under the arms, maneuvering the unconscious woman into the holding cell.

"You boys mind doing some work before we start the congratulations." Pike grunted as he half-pulled half-rolled the stunned body up onto one of the cots.

Suddenly, it occurred to McCoy that three people had just been electrocuted and stunned on his behalf and he hadn't even thought about their well-being. All Jim's bad influence, no doubt – so much for his medical degree. He wondered darkly if the excessive amount of time he was spending with Jim and his ilk was doing something to his brain. He'd signed up to Starfleet expecting to spend his days in the steady calm of Sickbay but now, it seemed half his waking hours were being spent locked up by angry natives, grumbling till Spock nervepinched some poor sod or Jim seduced or slugged the key out of someone.

"Gimme a look at her!" He snapped and checked the unconscious woman over, gentling prying open her eyelids to check her pupil response. The stun seemed to have been on a low enough setting that he wouldn't have to worry about her. Satisfied that she'd be right as rain after she slept it off, he turned to the man who'd been electrocuted – _hmm, pupil responses were fine…_ "God knows what you did to the poor boy when you gave him that booby-trapped PADD –"

"Relax, Doctor, all I did was-"

"All you did was _electrocute_ him! Do you know what that could do to the cardiac system if a high enough voltage was applied?" Heart rate was a little fast but still within parameters… hmm, nothing blocking his airways… "Where _do you_ get off on-?"

"Okay, _enough_ , Bones, enough!' Jim bit out, slinging the remaining man's arm over his neck, "We need to go so if you want to be a doctor, make it fast – Commander, a hand please?"

"Wait a _damned_ minute here," McCoy spluttered, " _Why_ are we running at all! The auto-beam is in like _three_ hours – we'll be able to get outta here while sitting pretty, so what's with the space cowboy act?"

"Because they'll realize we have a ship in orbit," Jim puffed as he and the commander maneuvered the man into the room, "Do you want them to get their hands on Romulan cloaking technology they shouldn't have? And what's to say the cells aren't shielded?"

"Cloaking technology?" Pike froze in alarm, "Isn't that unstable? Only Klingon are crazy enough–"

Abruptly the sound of klaxons screamed through the compound, making everyone jump and derailing the commander from a very uncomfortable line of questioning. McCoy grimace but wasn't surprised. Jim looked up and around like he didn't know what was going down, an expression of "oh shit" coming over his face. The doctor sighed in long suffering. This stuff always happened. Jim swore under his breath and quickly dragged the remaining officer's unconscious body into a corner with Commander Pike's help.

_I swear, Jim, you are the human incarnate of Murphy's Law…_

There was cascading rumble from further down the corridor and around the corner, and McCoy frowned, trying to place the sound. Pike shot them both a grim look, having identified the approaching noise.

"Security teams," He explained, "It's standard procedure to sweep the area."

"Oh well crap!" Jim said unhelpfully. Without a word of warning, the younger man seized him by the arm and shoved him towards the cell cot.

"Get under the bed, Bones!"

" _What_?"

"Good idea," Pike smiled tightly, "I'll head them off."

With a nod, Jim dropped down on his knees and quickly started burrowing and twisting his way into the narrow area under the holding cell cot. Realizing what the kid was attempting to do, McCoy quickly followed, lying flat on his stomach and wriggling himself into place with a mix of movements from his elbows and knees. He felt like a catfish doing the dog paddle and probably looked a right idiot, but needs must. It was a tight fit; he could hardly lift his head off the floor more than two inches, and the whole place smelt like his great-grandmother's mothball closet. Somewhere out of his line of sight, Pike called for Medical on the wall-mounted comm. system.

"Can you see?" Jim whispered.

Not well; he could see Pike's leg but that was about it.

"Shut up!" He hissed back and then held his breath as a suspicious tickle went up his nostrils. The security team must have seen Pike because someone was running over, boots clacking on the hard floors. Besides him, Jim tensed.

"Sir!" A new pair of legs came into view, dressed in the standard grey Academy service uniform and a pair of regulation boots for a size eight in women's.

"He's gone already, Lieutenant."

" _Sir,_ are they okay?" The woman sounded alarmed; she must have seen the bodies.

"I've called Medical. Focus on the search for the escaped detainees, Lieutenant, I want a sweep of all hallways, especially three and seven. Exits are there, make sure you cover them."

"Aye-aye sir!"

The boots disappeared down the corner followed by a flurry of shouted instructions for people to pan out and secure exits along corridors 3A and 7E. The commotion died down a minute later. Pike's feet turned in their direction.

"All clear."

Struggling out from under the cot, Leonard McCoy took in a deep blessed breath of clean air and promptly sneezed. Jim straggled out behind him, his purloined cadet uniform looking a little rough for wear with dark stains down his back and along his calves.

The doctor wriggled his nose in disgust, "The heart of the Federation Council and we still can't remember to clean under the bed – this could be a major health hazard you know."

"Your complaint is noted," Pike spared him a bemused glance away from the PADD he was studying.

What now, he thought – the hallways were packed with security officers after their heads and Pike had just ordered them to go ahead and protect the exits! Suddenly he noticed Jim in the corner, stripping off one of the uniforms.

"What in blazes are you doing Jim?'

Jim grinned and managed to pull the jacket off the unconscious man, "Getting you something else to wear – _what_? Don't give me that; we can't exactly keep a low profile with you walking around in civvies."

McCoy made a disgusted face. He knew exactly the hundred and one germs he could come into contact with just from wearing someone else's clothes, but – the doctor looked heavenwards as he resolved himself to suffer this indignity – he supposed he'll just hypo-spray himself with a cocktail of preventative antibiotics when they got back to the ship. He took the offered jacket, and started to strip off his own clothes.

"The things I do for you, Jim."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Jim Kirk, sometimes Starfleet captain and current time-traveler, kept his head down and followed Commander Pike who was striding quickly and confidentially ahead, giving off the impression that he had somewhere to be right this moment so no one better stop him. They were out of the holding cell blocks and had just passed some gyms which appeared to be for hand-to-hand combat training. He'd taken his combat course with the rest of the Command track in the gym closer to their block so this was all new territory.

"How much longer till the automatic beam-out kicks in?"

He glanced at his chronometer. It was still stuck on 1409 hours – he winced – which meant that it was broken again and he'll need to get a new one off Requisitions. Spock was already practically snarling with every uniform he managed to mangle, he could just imagine the expression on the Vulcan's face when he put in yet another request. "Bones, what's the time?"

"Another three hours or so…"

"Not terrible, not great, but sounds feasible..." Pike muttered to himself and tapped a few more commands into the PADD he'd continued carrying all this time. "So all I have to do is keep you boys off the grid for just over three hours."

Jim craned his neck and peered over the man's shoulder – and saw a bunch of street guides, mass transit timetables and network maps; it looked like they were going on an excursion. In the background, the sound of the red alert klaxon from the holding cell area continued to cry shrilly, echoing against the dark polymer flooring. The security team would pan out as soon as they finished securing that area and this was the next place they'd look. Damn.

"Yeah, should be enough."

Jim tensed as a cadet walked by them with an armload of PADDs. Thankfully she gave them a cursory glance of interest but otherwise took no notice of them. He shared a pleased look with McCoy - because see, playing dress-ups did have its benefits - but the man only rolled his eyes in exasperation. One of the turbolifts opened ahead of them, and a team of engineers streamed out, all talking loudly in their confusion. Jim kept his head down and murmured a sorry when he bumped shoulders with a few of them. The yellow alert had extended to this part of the Academy by now, the lights flashing on the walls and arching over the polished floors.

Pike acknowledged the attention given to him as a senior officer with a small nod, "Intruder alert, cadets. It's standard procedure so rendezvous with your squad leaders."

There was a chorus of "aye-aye sirs" and the team of engineers dispersed, jogging down the corridor, each to their own destination.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jim turned to the commander, "What are we going to do now? Wander around the Academy till we get beamed? We're going to get seen or caught sooner rather than later."

Sure it hadn't happened so far, but Starfleet Security was no joking matter. The only reason they were doing so well was because between Pike and himself, they probably knew the system inside out, and were anticipating every step.

"I know," Pike grumbled under his breath, nodding at another passing Academy staff member who was heading towards the holding cells and trailed by several ensigns all bearing phasers. "We should get off campus as soon as possible. Security is tightening."

"Radius spread from a zero point; the exit points closest will be locked down first, and so on in a domino effect," He murmured sotto voce, recalling the standard Intruder Alert Protocol from somewhere in his memories. He'd never had much use for that piece of information except as an answer on a test back in First Year. Most intrusions upon the Academy were usually nipped pretty quickly before they even got into the solar system never mind the actual Academy grounds.

"Exactly," Pike said quietly, "So I recommend we run – we're ahead already so we'll catch up with the security lockdown at the next exit. Let's go."

* * *

_In stationary position behind Charis: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

Nyota Uhura raised her hands in the air, "Whoa, whoa, Chekov! Slow down!"

Almost jumping out of his skin and right-eyed, the Russian navigator gave her a short breathless laugh and ran a hand through his curls, "Oh, right, oh, I'm sorry…"

She studied his flushed appearance in concern, "Are you okay, Chekov? Look, let's try this again slowly, okay? From the beginning."

Taking a deep measure breath, Pavel Chekov started from the beginning. "Mister Scott and I have been thinking of ways to find the Romulan vessel…"

Uhura gestured for him to keep going.

"Now, the Romulans spent twenty-five years, looking for an electric storm in space or any subspace anomalies which might be a temporal disturbance, as well as all subspace transmissions within specific bandwidths!"

"Okay…" She paused, confused, "So what does this mean?"

Chekov beamed and raised both his fists like he was going to start doing fist pumps in his happiness, "We can mimic the subspace frequencies of the Vulcan Science Academy in the twenty-fourth century!"

Uhura felt something in her mind click, "Subspace frequencies? Specific to that period?"

"Exactly!" The young man nodded so hard it look like his head might be nodded off, "Only a Vulcan vessel of the twenty-fourth century would use these specific subspace frequencies as they are not part of the pre-programmed range for Starfleet nor any Vulcan vessels in the twenty-third century –"

"So if we were to send out coded messages in those bandwidths," Uhura met Chekov's eyes, catching on to what the navigator was attempting to say, "They're going to think we're from that time – from the future!"

"Yes! Yes, yes! And," Chekov held up a finger, a proud grin stretching across his lips, "While we cannot duplicate the effects of the temporal distortion, we can create _subspace oscillations_!"

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura frowned, and held her hands up again to stop the speech that Chekov was about to launch into, "Okay. Stop there. What does that even mean?" She narrowed her eyes, attempting to find a frame of reference within her education in subspace communications, "Subspace oscillation? I mean, that's just natural subspace interference isn't it?"

The navigator was practically vibrating in his excitement now but managed to control himself from lapsing into Russian, "You know how to filter it out and distinguish between naturally occurring subspace phenomenon and artificial subspace signals, _da_?"

"Yes I know how, Chekov, but…" She frowned, her mind still drawing a blank, "How does this help?"

"According to our information, in ze twenty-four century, subspace oscillations are picked up by sensors as _part_ of standard astrometric telemetry." Chekov explained, thrusting the PADD in front of her face. Uhura took it and wiped the finger smears off the screen, her eye curiously raking over the contents. Unfortunately, it was all engineering terms and mathematics, which she found illegible except for the odd Gaelic word – Scotty's handiwork no doubt. "Zey cause minor gravimetric vibrations and are considered as side effects of disruptions in subspace."

"So you mean, they'll … notice it?" She asked tentatively, trying to grasp what Chekov was sharing.

"Aye! It's a space anomaly!" Chekov threw his hand up and almost knocked a passing crewman in the head with the mug. Uhura refrained from rolling her eyes when the young man didn't even noticed. She discretely gestured an apology on his behalf at the bewildered midshipman.

"An anomaly…" She repeated, starting to smile, "Okay, so they'll come after it."

" _Exactly_!"

Nyota Uhura cocked her head to the side, a thought suddenly occurring to her – namely, her Vulcan crewmember: "Why are you telling me this and not the Commander?"

Chekov gave her a small embarrassed smile, "Mister Scott was hoping you could help us with the subspace oscillation, to make it as authentic as possible. We also need messages in Vulcan for transmissions."

She grinned and handed the PADD back, "Let's get started."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Doctor Leonard McCoy ducked behind a tree and felt a hot sizzle slice along the tip of his right ear. They'd successfully evaded the security lockdown protocols after running for what seemed like a mile, and then _just_ as they were out in the open air, walking towards freedom, someone just happened to catch sight of them and raised the alarm.

_Damn Jim and his Murphy's Law curse!_

McCoy peered out from behind the tree, trying to catch sight of where Jim or Commander Pike had gone but all he got for his trouble was another attempt to stun him. He quickly went down into a crouch before attempting to take another look, keeping his eyes peeled for that annoying ensign who kept trying to pop him a good one – _oh_ , just she _wait_ when he got his hands on a phaser!

More Security teams were arriving by the minute, but fortunately for him, they were required to cross the open green lawns of the Academy grounds where there was little to no cover. Even with his lack of tactical knowledge, it was blatantly obvious that he had an advantage over any Security team that would try and approach. Too bad that he didn't have a phaser, the doctor mused.

McCoy looked around aimlessly. The darkness and the pockets of lit up areas didn't make it easy to find Jim or the commander. Suddenly, his eyes caught movement to his right. It was Jim, waving his hand like a maniac while hiding behind a park bench and trading phaser fire with their pursuers like they were in a good old-fashioned western shoot-out. _The idiot!_ He waved tentatively back and flinched when a phaser fired from behind him, neatly stunning a Security officer who had been about to sneak up on him from the left. He spun around.

Winona Kirk put down her phaser.

"You should be more careful, Doctor."

"Tell that to him!" He scowled, gesturing wildly at where Jim was taking cover before realizing _who_ had just saved him from a phaser stun and turning back to do a double-take.

"Here," the commodore darted forwards to collect the dropped phaser and threw it to him.

McCoy caught it on reflex, completely flabbergasted by her sudden appearance. The phaser fitted about as good as gorilla gloves – oh what he'd give for a nice laser scalpel instead.

"Ah… thanks." _I think_ , he silently added, giving the woman who gave birth to the likes of Jim Kirk a long disbelieving stare.

Suddenly his attention was drawn to a flash in the dark to his wider peripheral left. Raising the phaser, McCoy spun and fired without thinking. There was a grunt of surprise in the darkness before a female officer tumbled onto the green grass, her phaser falling slack from her fingers.

"You're a good shot, for a medical doctor."

McCoy ignored the compliment. The smell of blaster discharge filled the air like burning ion, making the pit of his stomach turn and he really didn't care for making conversation even if he felt a bit rude.

" _Winona!_ What the _hell_ are you doing?" Pike yelled from the next tree over, his back pressed hard against the trunk as the security detail responded with a series of retaliating blasts.

The older woman grinned, mirroring the commander's pose by hiding against the nearest tree. "What's wrong, Chris? Not happy to see me? Don't worry Commander, I'm just passing through."

Leonard McCoy rolled his eyes at the hint of teasing in the woman's voice. She was Jim's mom alright – to be flirting or whatever it was she thought she was doing while people were shooting at them was just _ridiculous_ , more so because she was a commodore _for Pete's sake_!

"Why aren't they trying to kill us?" McCoy snarled, trying to bring their attention back to the business at hand. He quickly fired off a few wild shots to get himself some breathing room. He didn't understand why the Security personnel were firing stun-setting only. They could have vaporized the trees he was using for cover but instead they were shooting at him with what were essentially blanks. Between the three of them, they could pick off any approaching back up for now, but he wasn't sure how much longer they could keep it up. The phaser grew hot as he fired again and again.

Commander Pike dived as a blast got too close, hitting the ground with a pained grunt.

"Chris!" Winona Kirk yelled, letting loose a barrage of shots that prevented the man from becoming the immediate target of seven trigger-happy cadets.

McCoy dragged Pike up and behind the tree just as several blasts snicked the grass where he had been. Breathing a little heavier than earlier, Pike hoisted his phaser and glanced quickly around the tree trunk at their targets.

"This is all DTI approved, Doctor," The older man fired a shot before ducking back behind cover, "I'm under orders to get you out of here and they're under orders to pursue, capture only."

McCoy grabbed the commander by the arm, his mind racing, "Wait, are you saying this is a _set up_? Are you saying Starfleet actually wants us to escape?"

He looked to the commodore, who was looking at them intensely, obviously eavesdropping, "And what about her, huh?"

Before Commander Pike had a chance to explain, the sound of law enforcement sirens filled the air at an almost deafening decibel. Leonard McCoy grimaced and covered his ears in pain. His head snapped upwards to look for the source. Flood lights scorched his face through the branches. Beside him, Pike swore in Klingon.

"So did the DTI invite them to this party too?" He yelled over the clicking sirens.

The older man shot him a dark look, hand clamped over one ear.

'CITIZEN. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND PREPARE TO BE ARRESTED.'

The electronic voice resonated across the green lawn, hard and metallic. McCoy grimaced; he could barely see with the glare in his eyes but there appeared to be five – no, six – auto-police units hovering approximately ten meters above them, their engines humming in low-pitched harmony. Mindless God-forsaken drones, he thought angrily. McCoy had always thought the government was moronic for introducing robotic units to do primary police work.

_And now I have proof… beautiful, I'll cite a complaint as soon as I get the hell out of here..._

Pike grabbed him by the shoulder and pried his hand away from his ear, "When I give you the order to run, run – get Jim and -!"

There was a bright streak of phaser fire from beside him and suddenly, one of the floodlights blinked out. The damaged police unit swerved wildly and knocked into two of the others. Alarmed screams filled the air as the unit veered closely to the ground, sending several Starfleet officers diving face down onto the grass to avoid it. There was another burst of phaser fire, followed by the sound of a small explosion. The damaged unit began to spin erratically, its propulsion systems grinding like metal.

"Watch out people!" Winona Kirk yelled over the field, leaving the cover of the tree line and waving her hands for attention, "Get out of the way!"

McCoy ran for cover and cursed under his breath at the sight of a young ensign looking around lost and confused – the idiot was standing straight in the path of the damaged auto-police unit!

"Get down kid!" He shouted and tackled the boy to the grass, rolling them out of danger.

Overhead there was the horrid crunch of a midair collision, shouting, several people screaming and the harsh fizzle of more phaser fire. He felt the grass tremble as the police unit crashed to the ground some twenty meters away and self-destructed in a barrage of sparks, smoke and flames. His blood thudded like war drums in his ears and he felt vaguely sick – _definitely a doctor, not a cowboy…I am too old to deal with this crap..._

McCoy pulled away and looked down at the young man he'd just knocked down.

"You saved my life," The ensign said in a shaky voice eyes wide in shock.

'CITIZEN. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND PREPARE TO BE ARRESTED.'

Before he even had time to ask if the young man was okay, someone dragged him up by the back of his jacket. It was Jim, who was panting heavily, and firing non-stop at the flood lights, knocking them out with surprising accuracy. Pike skidded to a stop besides them, his phaser blaring brightly with each shot he fired.

"Come on!" Jim yelled, "Dammit Bones, get moving!"

There was pandemonium as they ran with Academy security and cadets who'd been caught in the cross fire. The distinct hum of the police auto-units streaked by his head, way too close for comfort. Suddenly Jim stopped running and pointed his phaser up into the night sky, firing at a police auto-unit that was preparing to come about. The unit sharply veered to the left and quickly gained altitude to avoid the blasts. Next to him, the commander's phaser fire joined Jim's. There was a wobble in the unit's tail lights before suddenly it exploded, engulfed in a large fireball that flared hotly across his face and made the air tremble. The wreckage dropped like a deadweight sending Starfleet officers and cadets scrambling for cover.

"You're good at this."

McCoy glanced at Jim, who shrugged and met Pike's disbelief with chagrin, "Would you believe that I used to get hunted by these things every other week when I was a kid?"

"Why am I not surprised?' McCoy quipped testily, before looking around him and realizing that someone was missing; Winona Kirk, the woman who'd given life to the bane of his existence, was nowhere to be seen.

Grinning and at ease, Jim missed his troubled expression. Clapping him on the shoulder firmly with both hands, the younger man spun him around towards the main gates of the Academy grounds some four hundred meters away. "Focus, Bones, we're escaping remember?"

Leonard McCoy resisted the urge to punch his young captain in the face for grinning when they'd spent the last twenty minutes dodging phaser fire, and turned stiffly to face the more mature member of their little escape plot, "Commander, have you seen the commodore?"

Jim blinked in confusion, "The commodore…?"

McCoy sighed. It was just typical that the kid had been so busy with his little shoot-out he wouldn't have noticed his mother gate-crashing their party. The doctor opened his mouth to explain what happened when a hovercar roared towards them across the green. It arrived before they'd even have time to run and descended smoothly in a tail-spin turn till it was alongside. For a moment, Jim tensed, grabbing hard onto his arm with the intention of pulling him into a run, but then they all got a good look.

Commodore Winona Kirk nodded her head to the back seat, "Get in. Who knows how to bypass hovercar security?"

A stunned look still on his face, Jim raised his hand in a jerky move. McCoy had a feeling that it was reflex doing the work and that the younger man's brain was probably still dealing with the fact that his mom was here in a hovercar, an accessory to breaking the two of them out of Starfleet detention.

She nodded to a fleet of hovercars nearby in the parking area, all on standby and unguarded in the confusion going on. "Get another car, we need to lose them and then regroup – Sector 25, in front of the Betazed Art Gallery. Know where that is?"

Jim nodded curtly, still wide-eyed.

"Good. Let's go."

A slow grin stretched across Jim's face, and McCoy exhaled noisily when the younger man turned to him with a smirk as if to say – _see Bones, my mom is just awesome!_ His mom was a Starfleet commodore who knew how to bypass hovercar security features - a "carjacker" to use the crude term - and there was something seriously twisted with the kid that he was _happy_ about it. The younger man took off at a hard sprint, jumped into a Starfleet hovercar and disappeared from view, no doubt bypassing the security features. The engine gave a low hum as it switched on. Jim waved at them.

"Is he really a Starfleet captain?" Pike asked under his breath.

"I wonder that every damn day," Leonard McCoy admitted grudgingly as they climbed into the flitter, staring hard at the woman who gave birth to Jim Kirk, "Are you sure she's really a commodore?"


	11. Chapter 11

_USS Enterprise, en route to Earth, year 2246_

The doors to the Main Briefing Room opened with a hiss, announcing the arrival of Hannity who gave her a brief shy smile before finding a seat near the back wall. Looking around the room, Uhura realized that everyone present had been with the _Enterprise_ since its maiden voyage. Of course, the truth regarding Nero's incursion, the Red Matter device, all of those details were still classified, and except for high-ranking members of Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council, everyone else had been given a half-truth. The people in this room though were among those who knew what really happened, having witnessed it firsthand.

The doors slid open and Spock stepped in, his dark eyes taking in the scene before he strode around the conference table and gracefully took his seat at the head of the table, making it seem like one smooth continuous movement.

"Ensign Chekov, Commander Scott, I understand you have a plan for tracking the _Narada_."

Uhura turned her attention to Chekov and Scotty, who were still preoccupied in a rapid-fire whispered conversation.

"Aye, Commander," the Scotsman finally said, clearing his throat, "Just a wee idea Chekov and I've been thinking up – with a little help from Lieutenant Uhura there."

He gave her a nod and a smile, which she returned.

"So, we know that the _Narada_ spent essentially twenty-five years," Scotty raised his eyebrows dramatically, looking around the table, "-doing nothing except scanning for an electric storm in space, or rather, any subspace anomalies that might be a temporal disturbance."

"The Romulan vessel also searched subspace transmission frequencies," Chekov said, his accent sharpening the words, "Including media transmissions and even set their astrometric sensors for _specific_ warp signatures."

"Aye, warp signatures that are specific to _future_ vessels. I mean, according to the report, everything they did was in anticipation of tracking down that ship with the Red Matter device on board – which is fantastic because that's going to be our angle." The Scottish man beamed happily, settling back in his chair.

Spock tilted his head, "Please explain this… angle."

"Well, sir," Chekov began, "We can mimic the subspace transmission frequencies used by the Vulcan Science Academy in the twenty-fourth century.'

Uhura leaned forwards on the conference table and turned to Spock, "I've already encoded a series of messages and checked that out, sir – the bandwidth they're speaking of is low and not currently in use by any known Federation organization."

"Yes, the subspace bandwidth is very specific."

"Aye, and there's also something they do in the future, that we don't do."

Spock raised a perplexed eyebrow, "Mister Scott, I am fully versed on all available information, both public and classified – to what do you refer?"

The chief engineer grinned toothily, "Subspace _oscillation_."

"Da, they cause minor gravimetric vibrations – which could signify the stabilization of temporal rifts."

Their commanding officer nodded, "I see – thereby hinting at the effects of a singularity."

Chekov pulled out his PADD and slid it to the Vulcan. Uhura watched Spock's dark head and pointy ears bend over the display in her periphery, brows furrowed in concentration.

"The Romulan sensors will be attuned to the oscillations?"

"Aye, which means if we can create something weird enough, we send it out there and those Romulans are gonna come running. Subspace disruptions could be nothing, but since they're looking for anomalies, well..."

"I see. You propose to lure the _Narada_ into initiating contact with the _Enterprise_ through simultaneous mimicry of a space anomaly and subspace transmissions on bandwidths used only in the twenty-fourth century…" Spock paused to consider the possibility, head dipping as his eyes hovered over the glossy table top surface and became unfocused; Uhura could almost see those gears spinning, faster and faster, as he mulled over their ideas. "An interesting proposal…"

"No guarantee for ye, sir, but it's worth a bang. The only other option is go trailing after them which will take forever, and we just haven't got the manpower, Commander."

Spock was silent, his eyes scanning the information given to him for a second time. Finally, he nodded, "Do it."

"Already started," Scotty declared cheerfully with a grin that was infectious. Uhura found herself smiling despite the circumstances.

"Good. Then I shall expect a report once you have made the necessary preparations and are ready for a trial. However, even with the modifications to the deflector dish, Commander Scott, I still expect the ship to be battle ready. Ensign Chekov and yourself are dismissed."

"Aye sir!"

With an emphatic nod, Lieutenant Commander Scott stood and rushed out of the room, Chekov following close at his heels already rattling away in jargon. Uhura drew in a breath as Spock turned his focus to her.

"Report, Lieutenant."

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, San Francisco, year 2246_

"How much longer?"

"Jim you've got your own watch – use it!"

"Yeah, ah, about that – I think mine's broken."

" _Oh for -!_ We've got less than ten minutes."

In the back seat, Winona Kirk broke out into a smirk, silently laughing as the odd group breezed through the small streets and alleys of Old San Francisco. Christopher Pike gave her a covert sideways glance, finding absolutely nothing funny in the exchange they were being forced to suffer through and wondered again why she was here. After losing the remaining auto-police units and whatever law enforcement Starfleet had managed to muster together in the midst of all that confusion, they had dumped Winona's stolen hovercar and joined Jim in his stolen hovercar, which apparently had "more leg-room."

"I don't mean to interrupt, gentleman, but if you're beaming out soon, shouldn't we be getting off the street?" Pike raised his eyebrows as the two men turned and looked at him, as if surprised to see him in the back seat of the hovercar. He gestured for them to take a left. "Here, turn into here."

"What – _here_?" The young man asked in confusion even as he obeyed and steered the transport into a random lane.

Pike nodded, "Keep going till the end - it leads to a park."

Finally, the hovercar stopped just inside of the gates of the park leading the Xenoculture Museum. Getting out of the vehicle, Pike surveyed the area. It was a late Friday night and this area was quiet. Most people were further down the district, towards the entertainment quarters. He heard the dull sonic roar of impulse engines and looked up, catching the warning lights of a commercial shuttle passing them overhead and gaining altitude quickly as it headed for the Docking Stations holding orbit over the Pacific. The two men busied themselves dusting off. The young doctor opened the collar of his stolen uniform jacket, face a shade too pale to be normal.

"So you have a ship in orbit then?" Winona asked bluntly.

Pike frowned, a spike of distinct discomfort shooting through him at the sight of the two of them, "Jim" and Winona Kirk, standing there together. "Winona, what are you doing here?"

The older woman gave him a dismissive arch of her eyebrow. Pike stiffened. He knew that a look, it was a "shut the fuck up and I'll tell you later when it's okay to talk" look. Dammit. So he wasn't the only one running around doing good old Admiral Archer's bidding. Vaguely he wondered what the old coot had Winona doing, and if she knew what he knew. Or, he thought irritatedly, perhaps she knew more than he did; she was a Commodore after all.

"Just a small one," the one named Jim told them with a smirk, staring up at the sky like he should be able to see it any moment now.

"A small _cloaked_ vessel? Just how far into the future are we talking here?" Pike asked without thinking, piqued by his own curiosity, "As far as I'm aware, and I know a lot of things people don't know, cloaking devices are still theoretical if only due to power requirements and the issue of particle radiation."

"Not that the Klingons particularly care," Winona added dryly sotto voce.

"Commander Pike," Jim shot him a bemused look, "You didn't honestly just ask me that did you?"

He smiled briefly at his slip, "No I guess I didn't."

This got him a wide smile, "We'll meet again sir," Jim's smile shifted when his eyes flicked to Winona, "Commodore."

Doctor McCoy covered his eyes with a grimace, "Shut up will ya and stop tempting fate!"

"Hey, I'm the Captain, let me captain, okay?"

Pike turned away and shook his head in astonishment; Starfleet must have been really down on their recruiting quota for the month to have gotten them two. Yet they were possibly two of the strongest Starfleet officer candidates he'd ever met - having a sense of humor that didn't quit when the going got tough helped a lot when one was out there facing the unknown. In his opinion, it should be a mandatory quality.

Winona cleared her throat, "Gentlemen, I have something for you."

Unfastening the front of her hoverbike jacket, the commodore reached inside and drew out a slender datapad that Pike recognized as being top-of-the-line, the latest model released by the Department of Applied Science. There was a crack running through the screen, no doubt due to the shock it endured when she had been forced to dive away from phaser fire that got too close, but its memory should still be salvageable.

"I know you can't reveal the exact details of your mission, if it's anything related to what I think it is you'll need this."

"This is…?" Jim frowned in query but took the damaged PADD.

"This is everything we've got – telemetry readings, logs, anything at all that we've collected on the unidentified vessel that's been showing up all over the place." Winona glanced between the two young men, then turned to Pike for confirmation, "I'm guessing here, but I think you know what to do with this."

Pike bit down hard on the immediate questions he had - like how the hell Winona got her hands on that information, and if she broke any Starfleet regulations doing it. No matter how much he sometimes disagreed with her methods, she had been a hell of a TA back in his cadet days – and she did outrank him.

" _Sierra Outposts I_ and _II_ last picked them up on a course trajectory that should bring them past Deneva. That was two days ago. Last few months they've been picked up by various starbases and outposts along the Neutral Zone." Winona's face grew solemn, "Unfortunately, according to the Starfleet Intelligence network, it's not just us – the Romulans have been taking notice and it's not good."

Pike took a deep breath and a shiver ran down his spine at her words. Though everything in the Academy carried on as normal, the last few months saw an unprecedented amount of cadet graduations - all moved ahead of schedule. While it wasn't anomalous as Starfleet did offer early graduation to individuals or groups who consistently outperformed their peers, he knew that these were the mere symptoms of Starfleet Tactical making subtle preparations for a possible outbreak of war.

"Just two weeks ago, our sensors picked up distortions along the Romulan edge of the Neutral Zone," He paused to give them a chance to take in the information, before he continued, his expression grave. "Cloaked vessels – a fleet of perhaps a dozen or more. Unfortunately, we don't want to reveal to the Romulans that our latest sensors can pick them up, so it's become a game of seeing who blinks first."

"The Romulans haven't had contact with this vessel, have they?" Jim asked, brows furrowing in concern. "Because that would not be good."

"Not as far as we know. The Romulans seem to be as worried as we are," Pike wondered if he should ask why it would not be good; he was sure he wasn't going to like the answer. Fortunately or maybe unfortunately, Winona had no such aversion.

She crossed her arms to stop from fidgeting as her frown grew. "Is it going to be a problem? If they have had contact?"

Jim ran a nervous hand through his hair, "Maybe."

" _Maybe_?" Her voice rose a full octave.

Jim gave them a conflicted look and then forcibly averted his gaze, "Commander, Commodore, by whatever means possible, do not allow any Federation ships or outposts to engage the Unidentified Vessel – I _promise you_ it'll be the last thing they ever do."

That didn't sound good by any definition.

"But you're going after them?"

The young man's blue eyes met Winona's and then his, startling Pike with their intensity. The silence stretched out and though Jim said nothing, Pike could see the resounding affirmative in the young man's eyes.

"That vessel, has advanced weaponry and shielding, and is the same," Jim paused before continuing, his voice and eyes lowered, a painful unspoken charge in the air, "Is the same Romulan vessel that attacked the _Kelvin_."

In the background, Pike was faintly aware of the doctor cursing. He took a step back, his mind reeling from the revelation that had just been heaped on him. Next to him Winona froze and rapidly paled, her face ordering itself into a hard neutral mask. He felt sympathetic pangs thrum through him at the sight of her – dammit, _dammit_ , to lose her youngest kid, and then to hear something like this.

"You can't share what I just told you," Jim looked imploringly between the two of them.

Pike nodded quickly. No of course not. He wondered if he should even be mentioning this sort of information in the eventual debriefing with the DTI. "But the Romulans…? Are they …?"

Jim shook his head. "No, they're rogue – the Empire knows as much about them as you do."

Christopher Pike nodded slowly, understanding the implications. No one could know. Half of Starfleet Command and the department heads were born in the aftermath the Romulan War – so even if this Romulan vessel was from the future and completely separate from the Empire, most of them probably wouldn't see it that way. Wars had been started over lesser things. No one could know. Concerned with her silence, Pike glanced over to the woman next to him, to reassure himself that she was okay. Winona's eyes were dissecting the young man, one hair at a time, an unreadable expression etched across her features. He wondered whether he should be worried.

"Less than a minute now," McCoy warned.

Jim swallowed painfully and glanced away before affixing his eyes steadily on Winona's face, "Commodore Kirk, don't worry. I'll get him, I promise."

Winona stared at him in silence, her brows furrowed. A beat later, her mouth pursed as though to shape words but it flattened out again, and within seconds, she was as expressionless as a Vulcan. Displaying austerity more in keeping with her rank, she nodded once.

"Commander Pike," the young man turned to him, posture straightening, becoming serious.

Yeah, Pike could see a hint of a captain somewhere in there.

"Thank you sir, for everything." The young man smiled fondly, like they were old friends. "If this doesn't work out and as my Vulcan first officer puts it, 'universe-ending paradoxes should ensue,' I want you to know you can whistle _really_ loud."

Before he had a chance to ask what Jim meant by that, there was a soft whine, the glowing light of the transporter beam, and they were alone under the night sky. Pike glanced up at the sky full of stars – _Vulcan first officer_? No Vulcan had been attached to Starfleet for decades and no Vulcan had ever attended the Academy, since they thought it beneath their Vulcan Science Academy, so what could happen between now and the future that they're entering the Academy and becoming Executive Officers? Pike looked away from the sky because there wasn't any point in thinking about what might be. He had enough to deal with just in the here and now. And right now, he needed a drink – no, they needed a drink.

"Drinks on me?" He offered.

"Yeah," Winona nodded absently, staring hard up at the night sky, "Sounds good."

 

* * *

_Location unknown: the Narada, year 2246_

Even without turning, Spock knew that James was awake. It had been weeks since they had been beamed back to the ship from the Vulcan wilderness. At first they had focused on tending to their various injuries, however, once recovered James had immediately attempted to access the shipboard computers. Having given up on swaying the young Human from his rebellion, the Romulans had sentenced them to their dark cell - perhaps permanently. The toilet facilities were utilitarian but adequate enough that they were able to clean themselves and their clothing, and they slept on the floor with an array of blankets supplied to them. Time became an entirely abstract notion in their isolation, and even Spock had to admit, he could feel a certain mental and emotional strain.

"Is something troubling you?"

There was a hesitation before James spoke, voice raspy. "Spock, stop scaring me like that."

"I apologize."

There was a short intermission of silence. Spock felt a tense awareness across his shoulders advising him that he was being observed and he wondered what troubled James that he should be roused from deep sleep. His fingers, together in the standard meditative pose, flexed.

"Spock," James whispered, "I'm hungry."

"You ate recently."

"I know but," there were faint rustling sounds as the boy heaved himself upright, "But I'm starving, Spock, and my knees hurt."

Spock wondered if the physical pain was a symptom, a warning of the inadequate nutritional value of their Romulan meals. While his mother ate at home where all the meals were vegetarian, she took many meals outside. She never hid the fact that she would eat Human food outside of the home, but he had never pondered the nutritional value of those meals or their contribution to her health. A thought occurred to him: what if the problem wasn't a lack of protein but a lack of something else seemly insignificant to his Vulcan physiology but somehow crucial to Humans, like sodium chloride – a Vulcan had no need for it and yet many Human colonists often became ill from its deficiency in their diet.

"Are you sick?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"No! I am _not_ sick!" James snapped, his voice rising, 'Spock would you _stop_ thinking that every "Human" thing that I do means that I'm sick! I swear, you ask me _every_ single fucking day!"

 _While you continue to deny it, Vulcans are more resilient than Humans, a fact based on empirical data…_ He refrained from reminding the human that there was no way to correctly measure the passing of a "day" in their confinement – it would be spiteful and, Spock took a deep breath, too emotional.

"I have reason to be concerned."

He did. Recently, he had been disturbed from his rest by the sound of James crying in his sleep without any stimulus, and the Human had stubbornly refused to respond to common methods of placating distressed Human children. "As the act of crying is an emotional response denoting extreme distress, I can only hypothesize that you are unwell. I understand that Human children separated from their parents need-"

"I'm not a child! Stop rationalizing everything." James retorted harshly, "Stop treating me like some stray Human you need to look after! I do not miss my parents! Forget what you learned about Humans needing physical touch to survive! I know that Vulcans don't touch people so just _stop_ since it obviously makes you uncomfortable! My dad's dead and my mom's in Starfleet so she's never there anyway so there's no fucking point!'

Spock kept his silence as the Human's breathing became erratic. Tears were imminent – he could tell by the quiet spasms of James' larynx that he was by now, overcome with emotions and unable to control further outbursts.

"I apologize-"

There was a loud bang followed by three more in quick succession. Spock stood up in alarm and spun around to confront his friend. In the dim green glow provided by the lighting cube, he perceived that James had buried his face between his raised knees and the noise was from slamming his fists down onto the hard metal plating of their cell floor.

Unable to help himself, Spock swallowed thickly, a heavy sense of unease coiling in the pit of his stomach.

"James. You are acting irrationally. Please control yourself."

The boy's shoulder shook and Spock tensed, uncertainty vibrating through his body. The reasons for his friend's unbecoming behavior and frequent bouts of emotional instability flashed through his mind – nutritional deficiency, lack of physical contact and resulting chemical imbalance, distinctively Human psychological needs that he couldn't adequately provide for…

His friend looked up at him and though there were tears, he also appeared to be… _laughing_? Spock raised an eyebrow, unable to control his display of surprise or stop the sudden surge of relief that shot through him.

"This is not amusing."

"Spock," The boy shook his head, giggling, "I swear one day I'll kill myself and you'll be like – James," Spock raised his eyebrow at the mocking guttural tone James used, "This is illogical and you will come with me now to-"

James didn't finish his sentence, instead folding in on himself and banging his feet on the metal plating in no particular rhythm. Spock couldn't tell when the laughing became crying and then lapsed back to laughing.

 _Insane. Illogical._ The usual adjectives rang through his head. Spock added more: _complicated_ , _unpredictable_. "It will serve no purpose for you to kill yourself," He said softly, uncomfortable that James would talk about something so grave with such levity.

Finally the boy took a deep breath, schooling his face into some semblance of control.

"I'm sorry. I'm just kidding," James murmured and gave him a tearful smile before hugging himself tightly, rocking side to side. "Oh god, Spock, I'm going stir-crazy. Darkness, more darkness, and then-!" the boy shot him a strange smile, "You probably don't even understand, you meditate half the time so you probably-"

There was a pause, "Never mind…"

Spock felt a vague sense of disappointed curiosity; he wanted to know what James would have said if he'd continued.

"The term "stir-crazy" – please explain it."

There was a sigh and James met his eyes, "It means that I dislike intensely being kept in one place, confined, unable to go elsewhere. It means that in compensation, I am acting in ways to help relieve myself of needs for things that I can't get while," the boy's breath hitched and his words stumbled, 'While I'm stuck here, behavior that may _seem_ crazy.'

_How apt…_

"What are these 'things'?"

The boy shrugged, "Things like… like running around playing baseball with Sam, or – I dunno – stuff like sunshine, the wind, some real food like toast or maybe lemonade and I'd kill right now for a chocolate chip cookie or even just a moment alone, you know, to collect my thoughts."

A dreamy expression settled across James' face before he looked up, embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean that you were awful to be around, no offense or anything."

Spock kept silent. He understood the Human's feelings more than he wanted to. He had been attempting to control his own emotional turmoil through intense meditation, but even that was becoming tenuous. Even if Starfleet had attempted to recover him, by now they would have ruled his disappearance as permanent. His intended, T'Pring, must have declared _koon-ut so'lik_ as was logical and her right. Their bond, not particularly stable to begin with, had not withstood the distance the _Narada_ had traveled with him aboard. During their time in the Vulcan wilderness, Spock had discovered the bond completely dissolved, no doubt to free T'Pring for another. At the time, he merely noted the change, his mental energies consumed by the need to survive, but now aboard the _Narada_ , he comprehended its disturbing implications: he was dead to everyone who knew him.

Spock came closer and knelt by his friend.

"May I?" He gestured to the closer hand.

James winced and held it out slowly. Mental shields in place, Spock unfurled James' fingers and noted the broken skin and incongruous lump underneath where usually he would have felt delicate bones. There appeared to be some internal bleeding but nothing of concern. As he examined the damage that James had done, Spock became aware of being scrutinized. While he was used to being an object of observation, usually he was examined by his Vulcan peers, whose derogatory thoughts he could anticipate and whose motives he understood well. It was not the same with a Human, and even less so with this Human.

"James, are you displeased with me?" Spock asked as gently as he could, "Have I offended you?"

"No! Shit, don't get me wrong – this isn't your fault, Spock," James rushed to reassure.

"Then," He released the hand he had been examining and sat back on his heels, "I require you to explain your recent outbursts."

In the silence, Spock felt a growing sense of unease, the air becoming thick with some strange emotion. Analysis of his senses revealed that it wasn't coming from himself.

"I'd rather be on Vulcan and risk suffocating to death than be here in this shithole," said James, a distinctively unhappy note in his voice, "And… I'm growing."

Spock tilted his head in confusion, "Naturally, James, you have not yet attained full growth to be considered an adult among your species. Your body's primary focus at the moment is growth."

"No I mean I'm growing, like-!" There was a terse silence followed by a frustrated growl, "I'm growing out of my shoes, my clothes are getting too short and everything's – everything's _weird_!"

_Define weird…_

"You are going through…puberty." Spock felt an unwanted blush coming to his face – this was a serious breach in Vulcan customs of privacy. But then, he reminded himself sharply, Humans were different; they celebrated with rituals, recalled the time with fondness, and were even given gifts in commemoration.

James shrugged, "Yeah… it's _sort_ of …coming _soon_?"

Spock noted the subtle series of inflections in James' voice, uncertain of their meaning in this context.

The Human fidgeted, "You think they'll give me new clothes and stuff? I mean, I won't grow _much_ , not yet anyway, we're all late bloomers in my family but it's been months and I'm still wearing what I had when I left and it's – it's too small..."

Spock's mind raced to interpret what the Human was saying, wishing to finish this line of conversation as promptly as possible. "You are in pain because your clothing is no longer suitable for your current level of physical growth."

"Sort of…" James admitted in a reluctant voice, "Not the pain, but yeah, it's uncomfortable. Not that it matters. I'll get cold without clothes but I got these blankets, so okay, yeah, I don't need clothes, not really. I never go anywhere, never do anything and..."

There was a soft sigh and the young Vulcan stiffened as the boy leaned forwards and started bumping his forehead against Spock's shoulder repetitively. "I mean, hey, you're not going to care if I got nothing to wear, right?"

No, but Humans in general were intensely embarrassed about nudity, of themselves and others, and Spock wished to spare his friend the experience if it was anything similar to his mortification at the thought of discussing "puberty" with another Vulcan. Logically, they should ask for new clothing but… it was quite obvious Nero hadn't considered the finer details of keeping them – especially James, who was a Human – alive for twelve long years.

Or perhaps it was intentional. Sadistic but logical, for they were only required to survive till they fulfilled their function and no more.

He placed his hand firmly atop of James' head, to stop the boy from continually assaulting his shoulder. The repetitive action reminded Spock of faulty machinery caught in a looping program. "Please stop that."

There was a muttered apology and then James was curling in on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Another shrug was James' response, as uninformative as the last one. "Dunno, I just, I feel like..." James looked up at him, hopeful, "Do you think, do you think you could not meditate for awhile?"

"Yes,"' If pressed, he could survive for many Terran weeks without food or sleep, 'Why?'

"Just, I was hoping, you could keep me company," The look on James' face was an expression that Spock didn't recognize, "Tell me about Vulcan, your mom, or your dad even."

Spock sat in on a cross-leg position and met the Human's eyes, "Will you stop being 'stir-crazy' if I did this?"

James grinned, "No, but it'll help, a lot."

With a deep breath, Spock started to speak, "40 Eridani is a trinary star system in the Eridanus constellation, located about 16.45 light years from Sol…"

"Oh," James waved his hands lazily, "I know that – skip to the good stuff."

"The good stuff?"

"Yeah like," James paused, thinking before brightening with enthusiasm, "Like the 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yards – you ever been there before?"

Spock shook his head and frowned, as something in his memory surfaced. The 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yards were where his parents had gone when he'd been abducted. Not knowing their fate disturbed him more than he would have liked, "No, I have not… only, only in passing."

The _Narada_ would have passed it too, he realized suddenly with a shock. He wondered if there had been a skirmish – the _Narada's_ weapons and deflector technology were undoubtedly superior, and if there had been hostilities, the shipyard would have been at a clear disadvantage. A tremor ran through him – perhaps his parents were dead, the shipyard destroyed...

"Spock," There was a gentle hand on his arm, and he met James' perplexed gaze, "Spock are you okay? You were zoning out again – did I, did I say something wrong?"

Spock felt something inside of him come loose and struggle to escape from him. He quelled it and felt a shocking pain, so clear it was almost physical. "My parents were present at the shipyard for a diplomatic function, when Nero took me.' He said, surprised at the steady tone of his own voice, clear as always.

James reached out and touched his shoulder, stroking in a soothing gesture, "They're fine, I mean, well it's a Starfleet Shipyard, they got excellent deflectors and safety features, and escape pods – if anything happened, your parents would have been on the first pod out of there, he's a bigwig Ambassador after all."

Everything James said was logical. Nevertheless, a persistent part of him fretted. "Yes… I suppose."

The Human opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to speak, the portal overhead opened. They both stood quickly, wary of the Romulan guard who had been sent to collect them. The largely built Romulan gestured with his head for them to climb up the ladder.

"Captain Nero will see you now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness yeah it's my bad that the posting is dragging on and on - the story is finished but I just suck at updating cos I was overseas for ages and had no computer.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning- Spocket gets beaten up in this part and it's not pretty.

* * *

_Location Unknown: the Narada, year 2246_

Nero approached him with a thunderous expression, crossing the distance in a few broad strides. Spock felt a violent tremor seize his spine, every primordial instinct screaming for him to run. Beside him, James tried badly to stifle his fear, jumping back only to collide with their guard. Wordless with rage, the Romulan gripped Spock roughly by the neck, pulling him over to one of the computer terminals. Vaguely, over the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his own choked breaths, he heard James shout his name.

"Look at this, Spock," The Romulan ordered with icy fury, "Look."

Dimly, Spock registered the symbols and diagrams through the pain of the Romulan's choke hold on his neck: _astrometric telemetry… gravimetric vibrations from sub-space interference…_ Roughly he was pulled back and dragged to the viewscreen mounted on the wall. Nero's blunt fingers released his throat to twist viciously in his hair. "Look!" The Romulan yelled, "LOOK AT IT!"

_Stellar cartography… encoding…? What am I supposed to see!_

Spock felt a sharp pain burst like flames along the roots of his hair as his head was sharply twisted around to face Nero. He noted the stench – twenty-three different combinations of sweat, chemicals, and blood – the wild darkness of Nero's eyes and the contemptuous curl to his lips.

"What is _this_ trickery? ANSWER ME!"

Spock flinched, unable to control himself. Fear blistered cold and hot along his limbs, making him tremble as he was shaken hard.

" _ANSWER ME_!"

In the background he heard James call his name again, louder, more urgent, and then a guttural snap that he recognized to be the Romulan verb for "silence." When the other boy's voice fell away, he knew that the guard must have beaten him into obedience and felt a brief surge of protectiveness and anger. Spock knew that nothing could stop James otherwise; the boy's will was so strong and so insistent that it bordered on foolishness. Spock met Nero's eyes and felt everything inside of him shiver.

"I don't know what you're speaking of," He replied, as calmly as he could though he detected a faint tremor in his vowels.

Nero searched his face, those wild eyes burning into his before the Romulan's expression darkened, twisting his features, drawing his lips back to show his teeth. Abruptly the Romulan slammed Spock's head several times against a nearby terminal and flung him across the room with a wordless shriek of rage. His body hit the deck plating hard, his vision blurring, his mouth soundlessly gasping at the shock of it, his mind reeling to process everything. The pain registered a moment later, stealing the air from Spock's lungs.

Gritting his teeth, Spock tried to get up, his fingers digging into the floor desperately to crawl away as he heard the Romulan storming across the bridge towards him, and almost cried out when it was clear that it was too late, and Nero was there.

There was a hard kick into his abdomen, making Spock's entire body heave in shock and agony. Another kick followed swiftly with a Romulan curse, and then another – and then more till he was halfway across the bridge floor, on his hands and knees, coughing and moaning and senseless with desperation. He could taste his own blood, Spock realized dimly as he dry-retched, clutching at his guts; the coppery taste was repulsive and sent a sick feeling straight to his esophagus, making his digestive system churn violently.

Spock curled into a fetal position, his hands, his knees, his skull, all screaming from the sudden jarring impacts. _Stop it, stop it!_ The young Vulcan closed his mouth and clenched his teeth tightly when he realized that the moans and piteous cries were from him. No! He would not give his captors the satisfaction of his suffering! He would be like James, he would face it without fear or complaint, and he would keep his composure! He was the older one, the more mature one, and James was watching him!

Abruptly, the blows stopped.

 _There is no pain…_ Spock swallowed down his sob of relief and curled his fists against the cold metal floor. _Control… there is no pain!_

Overhead, through a fog he heard Nero breathing heavily, ordering his crew to set a course for Kaeferia. A part of him recognized that as the Tau Ceti system, almost exactly midway between Vulcan and Earth, and the knowledge that he and James were so close and yet so far away from home paralyzed him with an almost physical sensation of anguish. Spock closed his eyes and drifted into a semi-conscious state, unable to find the energy to continue. The entire world felt wrong, off balance, slippery. Swallowing down an unacceptable noise, he felt rage ignite in the turns of his guts, burning hotter than the fear and pain running through his system unchecked. A savage part of himself, a part that he had feared and loathed and hidden, rose up and snarled at the Romulan, promised vengeance and destruction. This part yearned to stand up and see what had happened to James, to fight back.

But it was illogical to fight back – a Human boy and a young Vulcan against a dozen fully grown Romulans? No, it would be certain death, and Spock wasn't dying _here_. This would pass, he rationalized sluggishly through the fog over his mind, just like all the other times, he would hold on and he _would_ live.

 _Focus, Spock, think logically, think of the future, think of Mother, think of James_ …

Those things which the Romulan had said, the possible future he had revealed meant to hurt and discourage Spock, came back to the young Vulcan through the pain, giving him a source of unexpected comfort. Though everything in his training told him that it was illogical, some other part of him which he had never been able to control wrestled with his inner self.

This will pass, that hopeful part of him whispered against all logic and reality. Spock listened to it, and felt it warm the inside of him like a burst of light. Yes, he gritted his teeth, hold on; in their cell, he'd listen to James passionately declare that it was unfair, use invectives and colorful language that Spock had never heard before in his life; James would say that he'd rather die and they'd debate about it, him being the voice of reason while James despised him for a time, and then that would pass too. And then-

A booted foot prodded him viciously in the guts, sending a burst of pain through him and ripping an unbidden whimper from his throat. Spock let out a long shuddering gasp and allowed the darkness to claim him.

* * *

_En route to Earth: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

The yellow alert blinked insistently down the wall, adding a faint lick of amber over every gleaming surface. Thankfully the alarm and computerized vocal warnings had all been bypassed at the captain's orders; it would have frankly driven Uhura insane. At the corner of her eye, the first officer glanced down at the command chair before shifting uneasily, _as if_ – Uhura's eyes cut back to her station, one hand tightening on the console edge – as if he was very aware that it was Jim Kirk's chair.

"Lieutenant, any sign of the captain and Doctor McCoy?" asked Spock, just as he had ten minutes before, a distinct frown in his tone.

"Nothing yet, sir," Hawkins admitted apologetically.

Nyota Uhura closed her eyes briefly in frustration. This enforced communications silence was testing her patience and she honestly didn't know how Spock could just _sit there_ , Vulcan control or not. She knew it was to protect their cloaked presence from being detected but without this restriction, they could have hailed the shuttle, advised them of their coordinates and had Kirk and McCoy back on board within minutes rather than all this hide-and-seek. In her left ear, the screech of the sub-space oscillation continued to grind painfully, almost vibrating through her earpiece. Uhura twirled her fingers over the console, turning down the volume. Noticing her scowl, Lieutenant Hawkins gave her a reassuring smile which she returned with one of her own; as a more experienced communications officer than herself despite the fact that she'd been promoted to department head, just having him there with her make Uhura calmer. In the background, she heard Spock ask the young man manning the science station if the sensors had picked up any sign of the captain's shuttle.

Moving her dial along the frequency bands, Uhura switched to a lower subspace bandwidth and listened to the beeps and chirps of raw news-stream transmissions and then up higher to frequencies used for communications. There was some general sub-space chatter: the commercial cruise liner _Paris IV_ would be departing soon for _Deep Space Three_ , while a Barolian freighter was preparing to head out to the _Romeo_ and _Sierra_ Outposts along the Neutral Zone, and there was a cargo vessel that was late in arriving at nearby Andorra.

Suddenly, she heard it:

"Sir! Distress signal coming in from nearby Tau Ceti!" Uhura exclaimed, gesturing for Hawkins to switch frequencies. "It's a commercial passenger liner! Ship advises an unknown alien vessel has just dropped out of warp and began attacking them, requests immediate assistance!"

Next to her, Hawkins' face tensed as his hands moving swiftly across the secondary communications station, "Commander, I'm getting wide-band distress signals from at least three other sources sir, all within range of Tau Ceti."

"Confirmed, sir, long range sensors just picked up a ship – it's…" The young man at the science station looked up, paling dramatically. 'It looks like the- the _Narada_ , sir.'

A bite! Uhura secretly punched the air under her console with her left first in triumph. And only from their initial trials too!

The thrill of victory was short-lived though. She cursed under her breath – talk about bad timing! Their bait had worked too well it seemed and now they had two senior officers out there without contact and a hostile enemy vessel actively hunting them.

Uhura spun around and stood to confront Spock, unable to keep quiet. "We have to warn the shuttle, Spock – we need to get Starfleet here! There's not a-"

"Negative, Lieutenant," Spock said flatly, sparing her a stern look. Uhura felt a flush of anger and embarrassment at the disapproval he managed to convey with a single glance.

"All stations: Red Alert," Spock announced in his typical patrician manner, calm and composed in a way Uhura envied right this moment. The klaxons began to shriek, breaking the silence on the bridge and raising the hairs on the back of her arms and neck. "Helmsman, all deliberate speed to Tau Ceti. Maintain cloak and communication silence.'

Frustrated, Uhura swallowed down the protests that she'd been about to make, sitting back down at her console. Now was not the time to get into a fight about how much she hated Spock's dismissive attitude; she'd just have to trust Spock to do the right thing. Yes, she thought, be calm and professional, just another day on the job. Uhura placed her fingers upon her earpiece, pressing it in so that it drowned out everything else – the terminals beeping, the klaxons, and a cool computerized voice advising her that this was not a drill. She felt her heart skip as she listened to the short frantic message of the passenger ship crew; heavy damages – deflector shields failing – emergency evacuation protocols initiated. Another ship, a freighter vessel, reported imminent system failure with all hands abandoning ship. She wondered if the escape pods and shuttles would be able to make it or if Nero would shoot them down too.

"We're within view, Commander Spock."

"On screen."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the passenger ship explode, the flames quickly snuffed by the vacuum of space. Silhouetted against the nearby star, the _Narada_ gleamed darkly; the huge claw-like spires wrapped around its form were insect-like, reminding Uhura of the exoskeleton for an exotic, dangerous bug. This was it – the _moment_ – the confrontation the entire ship had been waiting for. Suddenly, Spock's relief spun around from the science station, eyes wide and his mouth gaping.

"SIR, the- the shuttle! Captain and Doctor McCoy!" He stammered in a broken shout, "They just dropped out of cloak! In front of the _Narada_!"

Uhura's eyes cut to the viewscreen and felt her breath hitch abruptly, almost choking her. No, he _wasn't_! She watched in horror as the shuttle bearing Kirk and McCoy swiftly did a 180 turn on its head and streaked towards the Romulan vessel on a collision run, its deflectors crackling as it expertly skidded along several torpedoes meant for another civilian cruiser, sending them off course to explode harmlessly.

The explosion came suddenly, flaring across the screen and taking out a section of the Romulan vessel's exotic hull construct.

"Helm, full reverse! Maintain cloak integrity!"

"Aye-aye, sir! Full reverse!"

Though it was hundreds of thousands of miles away, Uhura felt the shuttle explosion breathe across her cheeks, hot and painful. Every hair on the back of her neck stood up and she shuddered involuntarily, knees tensed and heels digging into the deck, all her leg muscles ready to leap up at the slightest provocation. The flames disappeared quickly, choked on space and darkness.

A bluster of white streaked out from the _Narada_ , which Uhura recognized as atmosphere and insulation being vented into the chilling darkness of space, freezing instantly into ice powder; it abruptly cut off as hull integrity shields snapped into place.

Someone gasped in the ensuing silence.

Uhura took a ragged breath, a small unwanted sob escaping her lips in shock at what she'd just seen.

James T. Kirk, farm boy from Nowhere, Iowa, her captain, just _gone_!

_And the doctor was with him … this can't be happening… what the hell had he been thinking!_

_He was being his father's son, he was being a hero –_ some voice inside of her said, surprising her with its reverence.

Her console beeped insistently at her. Though it physically hurt to look from the viewscreen, Uhura ripped herself away and stiffly spun to face her terminal.

"Sir, we're still getting a distress signal from the Federation cruiser _Australis_ –" She gulped down a shaky breath but continued, her training kicking in as her mind seemed to go blank. She distantly noted that she had broken a nail gripping the side of her console and somewhere in the back of her mind, the broken nail was funny. "They advise that warp core breach is imminent…"

Her voice wavered, thin, toneless and faraway, "… And request assistance to contain damage. Should we reply…Captain?"

Out of the corner of her eyes, Spock was sitting on the edge of the command chair, looking like at any moment he was going to burst onto his feet and charge forward. In his tight face, she saw shock, confusion, and an almost indescribable expression hidden in the way his lips were poised, as if he were mid-sentence or gasp or cry – overwhelmed, she realized with a shock, Spock was literally speechless. Slowly he straightened in the command chair, his expression softening for a second before it morphed into his usual blank visage. No, it was not his usual calmness; his face was a mask of blistering stoicism and almost…savage.

Finally he spoke:

"What is the status of the enemy vessel?"

"Their shields are up, sir, weapons system remains online but they're no longer locking torpedoes-"

"They're jumping into warp, sir!"

On screen, the _Narada_ hovered for a moment over the wreckage before disappearing.

"Destination?" Spock snapped.

"Based on their trajectory…" Chekov's hands few across his console almost too fast for her eyes to follow, sheen of sweat across his brow, "…The vessel is headed for _Starbase 39 Sierra_ , sir, on a direct course that will cross the Neutral Zone…" The Ensign paused, and glanced towards the command chair uncomfortably, "…Captain."

"Should I lay in a pursuit course?" Sulu asked tersely, his hands poised above the helm controls.

Uhura felt a shiver run through her, shaking her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In her left ear, the frantic message from the remaining passenger ship, _Australis,_ continued to loop. Damn it all, that was a colonization vessel filled with thousands! Even if she got a court martial for this in the event they _ever_ managed to get back to their Starfleet, she was going to break the communication silence and force Spock to de-cloak and save those people!

It was what Jim Kirk, Iowan farm boy extraordinaire would have done, Uhura realized with a pang in her heart. The Red Alert klaxon continued to shriek.

"Which Starfleet vessels have responded to the distress signals, Lieutenant?" Spock asked, spinning on his heel to face Hannity at the auxiliary communications station.

The redhead shook her head, frowning. "Sir, there aren't currently any Starfleet vessels nearby – Starfleet Command has responded that they're sending the _USS Veritas_ but…"

She hesitated, her expression becoming uneasy, "The ship was in Earth Space Dock for repairs, and so their warp drive is still technically offline."

_Come on Spock, I know behind those criticisms you more than admire Kirk, you think he's the best – this is why! Do what he would do! Do what feels right! He'd never take this lying down! He'd fight and he'd find a way to win!_

Spock tilted his head, his eyes unfocused for a moment as his lips thinned; the indifference on his face so flat that Uhura couldn't believe it to be anything except a masterfully constructed mask. _Oh Spock…_ a part of her cried for him even as she glared, a growing sense of disappointment turning her stomach with each second he took to decide whether or not to give the damn mission a pause and save those colonists.

He spun around to face the viewscreen.

"Drop us out of cloak. Advise the _Australis_ that we are responding to their hails and will contain the warp core breach with our deflectors – then maneuver two-nine-zero-alpha. Bring us alongside the escape shuttles still within vicinity and initiate planet atmospheric entrance sequence three-two-nine-sigma. Divert power to starboard shields - the planetary landing protocols should protect us."

Affirmatives rang out through the bridge as the crew responded with battle efficiency. Uhura let out a breath of relief and felt a grim smile curl along her lips as she succinctly sent out a broad-band message to advise the ships that they were responding to their distress call.

"Sir, ship is in position and starboard deflector shields on maximum – full-impulse sir, matching the escape shuttles."

"Good. Maintain course."

The ship suddenly shook violently, thrashing about as if some giant feral dog had them gripped within his maws. Around her, there were cries of alarm as consoles overloaded in a convulsion of sparks and choking smoke. The panel above her came loose with a shower of hot fiery flints, smacking her over the head with a mass of tangled conduits. Uhura ducked with a yelp and fell into Hawkins but it was already over.

"Damage report!" Spock called out with difficulty as many of the bridge crew began to cough from the stench of seared insulation.

Uhura was bruised and shaken, and her neck hurt from a touch of whiplash but her worry for the escape pods and shuttles overrode her pain as she scrambled along the floor for her earpiece and tried to re-establish contact.

"Shields holding at 73%, reports coming in now, sir…" Hawkins reported in a rough voice, breaking off into a coughing fit.

Hannity swiveled from her station, "Light casualties in decks seven to ten and Engineering section. Turbolifts are currently offline; life support and all primary environmental systems are functioning. Medical is responding and using the engineering shafts to move around the ship."

Spock gave a curt nod as he sat back down, checking the command chair console for the Engineering update from Scotty, "Status of shuttles?"

"Continuing on course to nearest habitable planet – should we follow, sir?"

Spock turned to her, "Any casualties, Lieutenant?"

Not trusting her own voice, Uhura shook her head.

"Negative. Set a pursuit course of the enemy ship, maximum warp," ordered Spock with an unusually hard edge in his voice. He left the central chair for the science station with a briskness that combined with his characteristic grace, seemed to Uhura like the prowl of some idle predator.

She glanced over startled by the hiss of the emergency chutes opening, both hatches hitting the deck with a thump. Three red-faced medics clambered onto the bridge, including Doctor Talleria, the acting Chief Medical Officer in McCoy's absence.

 _No_ , Uhura's mind whispered almost traitorously, _as Doctor McCoy is dead she has just inherited his post..._ She gave the young woman a small smile of reassurance as she was scanned with a tricorder and given the all-clear with a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

This was not the nervous young woman that Uhura had met three days ago, sitting on the edge of her chair and unable to hide how overwhelmed she was by just being at the senior officers' briefing. There was sweat on Doctor Talleria's face, and a quiet intensity in her eyes as she checked whatever bridge crew she could reach. But she did not tut at them, there were no complaints about Starfleet being stingy with good old-fashioned seat belts, no sarcastic remarks, no nagging at – Uhura swallowed thickly and looked to the empty command chair that Spock had vacated.

* * *

_Location unknown: the Narada, year 2246_

Dimly, Spock felt James' hands against the sides of his face, his head supported in the boy's lap. He tried to open his eyes and sit up but that made the pain worse. What was happening to him? It felt like a terrible sickness, making him want to curl up, stagger around in fits and hurl the contents of his stomach all at the same time. Overhead, he heard the screech of metal against metal as the hatch was sealed shut, plunging their surroundings into familiar darkness. He embraced the cool silence of their cell even as he shivered uncontrollably, sweating, caught in the throes of his agony. In the quiet, he heard James' unsteady breaths mingling with his faint shallow ones. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, to reassure but nothing came out except a raw gasp for air.

"Shhh..." James consoled, breath hitching as a strangled sob was forced down. "Don't move. It's okay. We're back – in our room."

_This isn't a room, this is a penitentiary…_

"Don't move…" James whispered, hoarse with emotion; slight hints of his terror coming through despite all his efforts. "I don't know about Vulcan physiology but I know that what he did would have killed me, so just lie there and shut up and be a good Vulcan and _don't_ fucking move, _okay_?"

Spock stopped trying to open his eyes and nodded once, and immediately felt the world tilt dangerously. His stomach twisted, a new wave of nausea hitting him. No, he would not move. He _could not_ move. Without provocation, a pain struck him across the abdomen, and compulsively, Spock jerked. Rolling to his side, he coughed violently, his entire body shuddering as his hands grasped blindly for something, anything, to hold onto. James cried out and quickly caught him in an embrace, hugging Spock's twisting form against him. Thick and ropey blood slid across Spock's tongue in clots and dribbles of mucus as he coughed, unable to get a breath in.

When he finally stopped coughing, the mix of blood and mucus slid warm and wet down his chin. It tasted sour. Stomach mucus and digestive fluids, he noted hazily, with internal bleeding in the lungs and maybe the stomach; how extensive it was, Spock couldn't tell but he needed medical attention, and he needed it now or he was going to, he was going to-

"James-!" He croaked, and immediately doubled over as more coughs tore through his lungs, starting anew in protest at his attempt to speak.

Spock felt breathless, dizzy, faint – he felt weak and mortal and–

_And Human… so Human…_

"Shhh… it's okay, you just got- got yourself a little dirty," James whispered in a quavering voice, and Spock felt trembling fingers hastily wipe over his mouth, the Human's supporting arm tightening around him. "There... see? That's better. Go on, do that Vulcan sleep thing. I'll wait, go on."

He felt warm breaths on his face as his friend leaned close to him, and he whimpered at the thought of James smelling his mess of blood and stomach fluids, his body straining to push the other boy away but found himself utterly helpless, unable to even lift his head.

"For living…" James whispered fiercely, both a plea and a command, and kissed him through the blood.

Spock swallowed painfully and felt unwanted tears well up in his eyes. He took a deep breath and reached up weakly, wordless, choking on the cries that wanted to burst out of him, about Mother, and Father, and the future – a ship named _Enterprise_ , the stars, their crew, in history and–

James caught his hand, and squeezed his fingers. "Hey, hey, it's okay… it's okay… you're going to be okay…"

An uncontrollable feeling swept through him. Spock jerked his hand away with all his strength and touched the Human's face. In the darkness, he felt James smile and lean into it, but this was not a Human caress. This was the only thing he could do now that his body was failing him. Spock let go of all his control and reached out with his mind, not caring that James would see everything because it hardly mattered now, control or propriety, Vulcan or Human.

_Your thoughts are mine… and my thoughts are yours…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ORIGINALLY written on 4 August 2009 - then updated countless times because I have some lovely beta readers looking through things for me


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada, year 2246_

Jim Kirk scanned the murky cavern that formed the main body of the _Narada_. He had his back pressed to a wall the way he liked it, a phaser at the ready and two laser scalpels he'd grabbed from the Emergency Surgical Kit strapped to his thighs (to Bones' vehement protests) – he was ready for anything at this point.

Darting forward, Jim ducked behind a console that had a good portion of its circuits gutted and quickly did a 360 for any threats. Nothing drew his attention. Jim held his hand up and gestured "okay." Seconds later, Bones dropped down behind him with a quiet sigh of relief. So far so good; no one had seen them beam aboard and the area they'd landed in was deep enough in the belly of the ship that it was empty except for the occasional passing crewman. The only sound they heard regularly were low groans from the ship's hull – _creepy_ , and not the least bit helpful in livening up the place.

This wasn't the way he planned on getting aboard the _Narada_. It had been a spur of the moment thing but not only did it get them on board, he had at least saved a couple of lives. He'd take anything he could get with the mission they were on – no matter how many cheat sheets Ambassador Spock had let them in on, Nero had access to things that he couldn't begin to imagine. Like tech from those creepy aliens, the Borg, that Ambassador Spock had mentioned – _hope I never meet them in some dark alley of space..._

"What now?" Bones hissed.

He nodded over the console and upwards, "Computers, there."

The doctor glared angrily at the terminal they were crouching behind, "Why can't you use this?"

"What are you joking, Bones? This piece of junk is dead!" He hissed back, pulling a few of the loose wires out and dangling them in front of the man's face to prove his point, "There's nothing to hack!"

Suddenly there was a loud clang from above, making them jump. They both cringed and held their breaths until the sound of footsteps faded in the distance. As soon as they both mutually agreed it was safe, Bones grabbed him by the arm.

"Jim, I can't do this! If this doesn't give me a heart condition, I don't know what will!"

"Shhh!"

Immediately, the doctor froze and whipped his head around, trying to find the threat. Sensing nothing, the man shot him a frown. Jim shook his head and gestured for quiet. His Romulan wasn't very good but he hadn't been the treasurer of the Xenolinguistics Club at the Academy for nothing. Holding his hand up, he mimed talking with his hands. McCoy raised an eyebrow but kept quiet; he tensed as he heard it too. Romulans – two of them – discussing whether or not to bother checking in on the – Jim frowned, _incomplete-blood_?

 _Spock_ , his mind yelled in excitement. Of course! Half-blood or half-breed was what they meant. It seemed that young Spock was on board and if that was true then most probably, very likely… _I'm on board_! Jim allowed a sardonic smile because heck, talk about confusing pronouns. He spun around and grabbed Bones by the shoulders, probably shaving another year off the man's life from the way he jumped. "Bones - the med kit – your tricorder – did you bring it?"

"Of course I did!" The doctor growled, throwing him an insulted look with one impressively arched brow, "I'm a doctor, aren't I?"

Ignoring Bones' confused spluttering, Jim ran across the nearby gangway in the direction where the Romulans had come from. Behind him, he heard the doctor scrambling to catch up, hissing his name angrily all the while. Jim pressed himself against a bulkhead and gestured for the doctor to shut the hell up. Above them about ten meters, one of the Romulans lumbered slowly across one of the gangways to the other side of the ship. When it was clear again, he gestured for Bones to hurry over. The man dropped down against the wall near him, pale and tense. Jim glanced around the corner – there wasn't anyone around and it seemed to be a storage area of some sort. Lots of drums of hazardous material – Jim frowned – but nothing that looked like a brig or quarters.

"What are you looking for Jim?"

Sliding around, he cautiously approached, scanning to see if there were any security sensors. The walls were bared, circuits and wires on display. He was almost disappointed. "Bones, you got your medical tricorder with you?"

"Well of course."

"How many life signs are there within say… tri-radius of 500 meters?'

The tricorder trilled softly. "Seven, four Vulcan – or Romulan, however you want to put it and three…" McCoy's eyes widened almost comically, " _Three Humans_!"

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada, year 2246_

_Open to me, James. Let me in._

At night, it was so dark around that it was like they were the only people on the entire planet. Flat everywhere, stretching on for miles and miles, the only thing he could see in the distance was the shipyard. _They build all the new stuff here…_ because it's Earth: heart of the Federation – home of Starfleet Command – no place safer... _agricultural historical preserves, my address in the galaxy is meant to be pretty good – I mean, well, everyone else gets shipped off-world..._

There was an old 5cm astronomical telescope. It was an antique, like so many things in the house it belonged to their dad and belonged once to granddad's dad. The first time James T. Kirk ever encountered the stars, he was five years old and – it was a summer's night… no one could sleep… _'Take a look, Jimmy…' Mom carried me so I could look into the eyepiece and it was like… the Moon was so large it filled up the whole thing, so big it almost didn't fit and… little holes on the surface like rice crackers, the good kind from … I thought it was a trick, I thought it was paper stuck on the other end and Sam was teasing me… it's just like in a book, the pictures of the Moon…_

The bed was more comfortable than the bed on the _USS Douglas_ , and he was full from potato salad and reconstituted guava juice grown organically on the Mars Colony … _see I got out of bed and woke up mom… that night, mom explained how far stars are from Earth and how huge they are… some stars are located many thousands of light years away and … light traveling on and on for thousands and thousands of… the word "infinite"… a word I learned that week from Frank…_

But it wasn't the same "infinite" as in it would be great to have "infinite" Betazed cream cakes. _I put my arms around my mom's neck and held on tight because it was scary, all those lights from "infinite" stars traveling on and on, infinite… the kind that makes your head hurt..._

Suddenly, aware of being looked at, James spun around.

Everything shifted. He was in a large dark hall, bathed in stripes of pale white sunlight filtered through the windows. This place was a school – where Vulcan children were taught the basics of history, mathematics, philosophy, language and _– I hated this place… thirty-fifth attempt to illicit an emotional response from me…_

Spock stood in stiff dark navy robes that reached all the way to the floor, "James."

"Spock!"

James started at the brightness shining in his eyes and spun around, confused. He was under an impressively large pale orange sky, standing on a terrace, and there was woman dressed in a long grey shimmery dress with a scarf tied around her head, watering a pot of red prickly ferns and – is she humming? It's hot and dry. The woman put down her watering can and quickly trimmed the fraying edges of the plant with a small pair of shears. _Something's weird… I thought… wasn't I just…?_ He shook his head and touched his own forehead, confused because he was on a ship, and it was dark, and – and –

_Someone… someone needs me…_

Her name was Amanda, and she was Spock's mother. _My Human mother…_ he stared at her – how strange, she looked familiar and yet so different from Spock. She was 47 years old, her favorite activities were gardening and reading, her favorite flowers were the – her favorites flower were - _Ascocentrum curvifolium, a species of Earth orchids, a monopodial plant from the old Earth nation of Thailand…and Earth roses; perpetual hybrid, tea hybrid, Rosa chinensis with Rosa gigantea with Rosa gallica with Rosa…_

"Hello? Hello is anyone there?"

James pulled back, breathless and disorientated. Squinting, he raised his hand to block out the light.

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada, year 2246_

There was a reason Leonard McCoy had never taken the Command track even though he could have – he wanted to avoid situations like this. _I'm going to be the first person under sixty to have a heart attack in a century because of Jim, crazy fool that he is…_ He shook his head a little to himself and held up his tricorder, a light sweat breaking out on his forehead and under his arms. Jim led the way, light-footed and surprisingly graceful – he'd actually always thought Jim was more the barge-in-shoot-first-ask-later but Jim seemed to like surprising him. _Yeah a little too much…_ McCoy followed the younger man cautiously through the airlock door, glancing around the dark gloomy pit they'd managed to find themselves in.

One minute, he'd been minding his own business, keeping an eye on their navigation display, musing on that paper he was writing in his spare time on the Vulcan simulpericardium (it was amazing, truly, after nearly two hundred years of contact with Vulcans that their medical databases on them were so poor – well, it may have been alright for the other lot at Starfleet but he was a damn doctor and he didn't appreciate having to go on practically nothing every time Spock injured some weird Vulcan organ that didn't even have a name) and the next minute, Jim swore under his breath and they'd dropped out of warp in the front of a battlefield!

It had taken Jim less than thirty seconds to make the suicidal decision to drop them out of cloak and head right on in front of the Romulan monstrosity. McCoy had protested (you bet your ass he did!), been yelling that the younger man was out of his idiotic mind when Jim set the ship on a self-destruct collision course, shoved him onto the transporter and hit energize. Needless to say, this hadn't helped his aviophobia and he was seriously considering filing for incompetence against his captain – citing probable insanity! Except he supposed they did get what they wanted so he shouldn't complain too much, but still!

_Dammit Jim! I'm a doctor, not a green-blooded hobgoblin who just blinks at every damn thing you throw his way! Have some mercy on my nerves and good God, I sound like my mother…_

All his thoughts about Jim's risk-taking behavior disappeared as an almost ominous feeling settled over him in reaction to their surroundings, which became progressively darker until it was just dim flickering lights overhead. This was no place for anyone and he would have never let a child spend time here; dammit, he was a grown man and this place gave him the willies! McCoy felt something in him twist a little at the idea of what the Romulan bastard could have done to Jim, the other Jim, the little one. If this crazy hunch turned out to be right and it was him and not some other poor hapless soul stuck aboard this Romulan pit.

"You got a reading still?" Jim asked distractedly, a permanent frown on his face as he examined their surroundings with a critical eye.

"Yeah… it's coming from in there, I think," said the doctor, pointing to one of the chambers that led off from the main ship body as he tried to translate his tricorder readings into something they could use for directions.

Leonard McCoy looked up and felt further unease settle at the bottle of his guts like cold grease – good God in heaven, this place had something like thirty or forty decks and though they'd come down at least five levels, they hadn't nearly reached the bottom; it reminded of him a labyrinth.

"There's two lifesigns, Jim – one Vulcan and one Human," McCoy squinted at the display, "The Vulcan one is a little weak, so it's probably from a lower level – can't tell I'm afraid with my medical tricorder, it isn't exactly made for this sort of thing, you know."

Jim didn't reply, cautiously heading down the quasi-corridor formed by several incomplete bulkheads. Following at a good ten paces behind, McCoy looked up and around. There was something off about this place. It was in the poor lighting, in the smell. McCoy took a deep breath and almost coughed – it was sour, like chemicals gone off their use by date. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he was walking around a derelict vessel, completely devoid of life.

There were pieces of alien technology and spare parts strewn everywhere like no one could give a damn, and a thin layer of filthy water covering the floors. If McCoy could venture a guess, he'd say that this was most likely rank overflow from some redundant environmental system. Jim didn't seem to be surprised, and nonchalantly trudged through the mess. The doctor studied the naked walls, full of power couplings, random tubing and various live conduits-

_Hello – what's this?_

Frowning, McCoy eyed the rope ladder strung up on the wall. A very strange thing to be hanging around on a cruiser – especially since it looked handmade too.

"Jim- Jim, look at this."

The younger man studied it with a troubled purse of the lips but made no comment. Finally they stepped into a barren room, similar to a cargo hold of some sort with all the various poles to the side perfect for securing cases against. It was a little better lit than the area they had traveled through, but not a damn lot better. McCoy frowned and turned in a wide circle. There was nothing here except for a raised dais with a hatch welded into it, like it was a built-in tank of some sort that went down into a hidden level. Stepping onto the raised dais, Jim looked to him.

"Bones?"

McCoy held out the tricorder and double-checked the display. "Jim, it's coming from here, I swear and-"

He paused, and held his hands for quiet when Jim opened his mouth to ask another question. There it was again. He swore he could hear a child crying. And it wasn't his imagination, because there it was again. But were it was coming from? McCoy turned slowly in a circle, trying to pinpoint the source. "Jim, I can hear a kid.'

Jim slowly turned as well, head tilted sideways in contemplation. Suddenly, the young man crouched down, placing a hand on the hatch he was standing upon and with a thoughtful look on his face, knocked hard on the metal dais. The sound echoed like a gong. Jim's eyes met the doctor's in surprise and he grabbed one of the handles and pulled. It didn't even budge. McCoy raised an eyebrow as Jim shot him an annoyed look, holstered his phaser and tried with both arms.

"Shit, Bones," grunted Jim, "this thing is heavy."

Clambering up and slinging the tricorder carry-strap over his shoulder, McCoy rolled up his sleeves. "Here, lemme give you a hand."

Together they managed to roll the hatch out of the way with a lot of grunting and huffing. McCoy peered inside cautiously. It appeared to be an empty space and yet his tricorder couldn't be that off the mark – could it? Jim dropped to his knees and nudged McCoy out of the way before he stuck his head in, causing McCoy to swear as he quickly grabbed a fistful of Jim's shirt to stop him going in head first. _Dammit Jim!_

The younger man didn't even bat an eyelash at the sudden tug. "Hello? Hello is anyone there?"

There was a long pause, and then suddenly a pale thin face was looking up at them, bright blue eyes blinking in confusion.

"Dad…?"

Leonard McCoy felt both of his eyebrows hit his hairline. It was a young boy, about thirteen maybe, in that smooth baby-faced stage just before the terror of puberty hit. Human, without a doubt, blond with bright arresting blue eyes but who the hell was he calling _Dad_?

"Hang on, we're coming okay!" Jim quickly retrieved the robe ladder they had seen and lowered it, looping the prepared end around two bolts sticking out from the dais. McCoy realized that everything appeared to have been prepared beforehand, deliberate… _like damn fish in a bowl…_

The younger man had barely reached the bottom before the boy embraced him and held on for dear life, his face scrunched almost painfully. _Good God, is that…? Is that…?_

"Dad! Dad oh my God! Dad!" The boy was sobbing, snot and tears everywhere.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay." Jim shot him an awkward look over the boy's shoulder.

The doctor stared in positive disbelief: Jimmy Kirk in the flesh at 13 years of age and a good looking kid too with a mope of foppish dark blonde hair. And a nasty-looking black eye… _just as I thought – damn them…_ McCoy growled under his breath darkly and quickly went down the rope ladder already running a mental check list on what he needed to check the kid for. This was a damn mess alright! He wondered if there were actually enough derma-bandages in his bags for all those scrapes and cuts on the kid's jaw and God only knew where else. He got out his handheld sensor, waving it over the kid.

"Hey, hey, calm down now, we got you, we got you,"' Jim soothed before stepping back and holding the boy's face, plastering on his captain smile, "Hey, hey, it's alright, it's going to be alright now, we're going to have a doctor have a look at you okay-"

The boy shook his head erratically, "No, _no_ , I'm okay-"

"Hey! Calm down, it's okay, it's gonna be just fine."

The stats were all over the place just as McCoy had expected – heart rate was too high, same with blood pressure but those would normalize; old fracture in the head and there was soft tissue damage in the left ankle that was still healing. He shook his head: potassium deficient, vitamin A deficient…. He narrowed his eyes darkly at one particular set of readings – another month of whatever diet these Romulan bastards had the kid on, and he'd be suffering from an ancient case of scurvy!

_Damn them! Thank goodness I brought a vial of stokaline in the kit… the kid's going to need three of those to get his multivitamins and minerals back up there… think I got some of those Vitamin C orange-flavored suckers – kid might like some…_

"NO!" Jimmy Kirk yelled, pulling away so hard he stumbled into a wall with a smack. "Listen to me! I'm okay, but he's not!"

Suddenly, the boy burst into tears and rushed over to one of the dark corners, yelling the last name McCoy had been expecting to hear: "Spock! Wake up! My dad's here! He's here with a doctor! Wake up dammit!"

"Oh damn.." The chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_ muttered when he set his eyes upon the younger version of Spock. He'd always counted himself lucky that he had joined up with Starfleet during a relatively peaceful period, knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with all the death and bullshit that came with war, but this- this was just…

 _Unacceptable…_ a part of him whispered furiously.

Beside him, Jim froze. McCoy glanced at him worried, wondering if this was triggering anything for him. He'd seen the medical records, he knew what Jim had been through, and the sight of young Spock all roughed up and well, it couldn't be easy on the younger man.

"Please doctor!" The kid pleaded, on his knees next to the young Vulcan. "You gotta help him!"

McCoy swallowed painfully, letting his eyes roam across the body being cradled in Jimmy Kirk's arms. From the dark green smears down the front of that grey tunic, he could tell that there had been vomiting;most likely that was a sign of internal bleeding, especially since the Vulcan boy was hunched over like he couldn't stand the pain of straightening himself out, and that inner eyelid dimming the color of the iris and pupil wasn't a good sign. The kid looked like he'd had the shit beaten out of him, and then some. There was a large clotting wound on the forehead, one of his eyes had swollen shut in a mass of green and purple, and the angle of his left arm was wrong.

Jim glanced away, a distinctively spooked expression crossing his face.

McCoy approached slowly as a violent shiver traveled from the tips of his fingers to the back of his skull. Crouching down after carefully stepping over a bruised wrist, the doctor waved his sensor over the limp form, holding his breath to avoid the smell of sour vomit and coppery blood.

_Extensive damage, just as I thought… what the hell did those Romulan bastards –! Dammit! DAMMIT!_

He straightened and took a sharp breath – this was the worst, _worst_ part of being a doctor…

Jim touched his shoulder, stepped closer. "How is he?' The younger man whispered, a quick glance down to the young Vulcan sending a sharp flinch through him that would have worried McCoy if he didn't have more pressing matters at hand.

The doctor glanced at down at the young Jim Kirk, who was murmuring something in a foreign language in the Vulcan boy's ear and stroking that still pale face with the back of his fingers almost insistently, like he was trying to coax some kind of reaction out of him. _Like the Vulcan is his damn teddy bear… Well, considering what they must have been through together it's not surprising…_

McCoy slung an arm around Jim's shoulders and spun them around for a little more privacy.

"I hate to tell you this Jim… but it's bad, really bad."

Jim gave him a hard look, "What do you mean _bad, really bad_?"

"I mean _really bad_ , Jim."

The younger man leveled him with an unrelenting obstinate glare, as though he could glare the doctor into making a different prognosis. McCoy shook his head. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but dammit, in the face of these kinds of injuries. what the hell was he supposed to do with a bag of multivitamins and band-aids?

"If we get him back to a ship with proper medical facilities, then we've got a chance but…" His mouth grew dry, "But it's not going to be long, Jim, before it'll be too late… not if we stay here. Sorry, Jim…"

The younger man continued to glare, his expression completely unmovable.

_Oh crap…_

McCoy glanced away uncomfortably, "Look Jim, unless we get him back to the _Enterprise_ , it's just not going to- he's not going to …"

 _He's not going to_ _make it_.

Turning away from Jim, McCoy felt his eyes once again drawn to the sight before him through it made his stomach turn. Spock could be annoying, anal-retentive, and even more of a nag than his Aunt Gladys, but he was also a damn good officer and a real help in a tight situation. They'd all warmed up to each other, become friends, despite their intentions and motives otherwise. As much as he hated to admit it, the pointy-eared bastard had grown on him and yes, dammit, he even understood what Jim was talking about when the younger man babbled about 'basking' in the pointy-eared bastard's presence, one of the pleasant side-effects of his Vulcan mental voodoo.

And dear God, McCoy closed his eyes – _dear God_ , it gutted him watching a younger version of him dying like this. _No one should die in this godforsaken hole,_ he thought vehemently, glancing around the dingy little cell that Jimmy Kirk and young Spock had called home for _months_.

Suddenly there was a nudge against his foot. Young Jimmy Kirk was looking at him expectantly, red in the face from crying, skinny arms straining to hold the young Spock's body against his own. The nudge McCoy had felt was a bare foot stuck out to prod him so he – s _o he could get my attention but wouldn't need to let go of his- his friend…_

McCoy took another sharp breath, an overwhelming sense of being out of his depth hitting him right where it hurt.

"Hey kid," sad the Georgian native softly, hunkering down to place a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, "Come on, son, give Spock some peace."

Shrugging him off with surprising viciousness, the boy glared. "Are you going to save him or aren't you?"

McCoy felt his next breath catch in his throat – this was without a doubt James T. Kirk. It was the same hard obstinate stare, that determination riding on hope and fury and a refusal to give in, give up, or let go. It was the look on the young captain's face every single time when they were in an impossible situation, between a rock and a hard place, and he'd prove to them once again why he was the youngest captain in the entire fleet and it wasn't just a fluke that first time, no ma'am – he was just that good.

Leonard McCoy felt guilt punch him in the ribs as he met the kid's eyes squarely.

"I'm real sorry, kid."

The boy looked at him blankly for one long second before he held Spock closer, a hand clamping protectively over one of the young Vulcan's ears as Jimmy's face twisted to the kind of fury that McCoy rarely saw on anyone much less a kid.

"SHUT UP! Don't say that! He'll hear you! Don't say that! He'll live! We were going to join Starfleet and – and there was this ship – and we were going to-"

The boy ran out of steam as physical and emotional exhaustion hit him, turning his face to an ashen shade that honestly scared the doctor. Silently crying, Jimmy Kirk turned his face away into Spock's shoulder and began to tremble.

"I'm sorry, kid," He whispered with difficulty, his throat seizing up. "Look, I can make him comfortable and… and I can make sure he won't feel…"

_Won't feel what? The kid is going to be dying pretty soon! He'll feel nothing at all soon enough so shit, what's the point of what I'm doing..._

McCoy closed his mouth, not sure what else to say. He looked up when Jim placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do something Bones, please," The younger man murmured with a note of pleading beneath his calm.

"Jim, I really- I..."

Who the hell was he kidding? He was the Chief of Medicalon the flagship of the ninth fleet and dammit, _dammit_ , he had to try! Leonard McCoy took a deep breath, feeling the weight of that faith Jim and the crew had in him, straightening his shoulders and spine. Going down on his knees, he emptied every single thing he had in the med kit and set to work.

"Spock, look, my dad's not dead, he came back for me, and he's got a doctor – you're going to be alright..." whispered Jimmy Kirk, not a question but a statement of fact, and clumsily cleaned the edge of Spock's mouth with his sleeve.

McCoy clenched his teeth at the childishly tender gesture and continued picking through the vials, blinking away the blur that struggled to blind him… _Now, where are the darn painkillers, the really strong ones you need for a Vulcan metabolism…_

* * *

_The Neutral Zone, Epsilon Virginis: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

It had been officially four hours since they had made contact with their target. Hikaru Sulu poised his fingers on the control for thrusters and hardly noticed the bead of sweat that slid down just two centimeters behind his right ear. His eyes burned into the viewer on his console. "We're dropping out of warp in four… three… two… one."

The streaking field of stars disappeared as they dropped out of warpspace, replaced by murky green gas coming in from every direction.

"Warp disengaged, cloak active, sir," Chekov announced tersely as the entire ship went dark then to Yellow Alert, lights coming back dimly as the cloaking device drained power from where it could.

"Slowly Lieutenant…" Commander Spock murmured behind him.

Sulu nodded sharply. Yes, yes, he'd worked this out already: port side, 10 degrees – five seconds of thrusters, followed by two bursts from aft thrusters…

The helmsman swallowed down his nervousness and turned to look at Chekov. The nineteen year old meet his eyes with a small determined nod. Smiling weakly, he turned his attention back to his console. Together and in concert, they edged the _Enterprise_ into a tight orbit, skimming off the top of the gaseous giant. Perfect, just like last time.

"Captain, we're in position."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ORIGINALLY written on 7 August 2009 - most recent revision 12 May 2015 - and HO BOY this fic is getting long. I've written like heaps more than this and I haven't even gotten to reintroducing Winona Kirk back into the story!


	14. Chapter 14

_The Neutral Zone, Epsilon Virginis: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

He was not meant to be here. There were many things which needed his attention, and yet…

Stepping through the doors of the captain's quarters, Spock allowed himself a deep breath of respite as they slid close with a hiss behind him, offering privacy which had become all too scarce. He didn't call for lights, but simply stood there relishing in the quiet cool of absolute darkness. There was a familiar smell, a light tinge of sterilizing soap which every crew member were to wash with after away missions, but mixed with that was a crisp undertone of something indistinct and pungent all at once – a personal scent, specific to this room. Reaching out, he manually turned on the lights to quarter strength. The antechamber was sparsely furnished with a selection of padded chairs and a table, as well as a work space with alcoves for personal items.

Spock noted the few facsimile books on display: "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" "War and Peace" "Zefram Cochrane's Unauthorized Biography" "The Writings of Marcus Aurelius" and "Introduction to Klingon Culture". It felt invasive somehow to be here in the captain's quarters though he visited often. Their unfinished game of 3D chess sat untouched, held in place by the inertial field that Captain Kirk– no, _Jim_ had activated. Spock approached the table, which still bore the remains of that late-night discussion regarding the dispatch; a cup bearing the dried-up remains of what used to be Terran coffee, a dirty plate…

_I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test…_

No he had not, Spock mused, it had been disconcerting and… a challenge; the presence of someone who was not intimidated by his logic as Humans were typically, and willing to – in fact insistent upon – debating with him.

_So, what now? Shit, Spock. Don't give me that look, I know that look dammit – if you want to hit me over the head with a PADD, fine, go ahead. We're not going through the argument again – that's my final decision as captain. And Spock, at least ask Uhura to do it – it'll hurt a lot less and someone will be having a good time…_

Moving pass the table, he stopped when something caught on his foot. He looked down at the crumpled bathrobe in surprise and hesitated a moment before bending down to pick it up. The familiar scent became stronger, more pungent, until Spock felt as if he could drown in it. It smelt very much like… His eyes widened as he realized what he was doing and hasty thrust the robe away from him. It dropped back to the floor with a whisper. Unable to properly correlate an explanation for these inexplicable actions, Spock wrenched his eyes from it and onto something – he froze at the flash of mustard-gold in the dimness.

There, on the floor by the side of the bed, the captain's shirt lay in a folded heap.

_Hey, about the ship…Promise me that you'll look after her? That brand new smell hasn't worn off yet…_

He looked away.

_If you have a clean shot, Spock, do it…_

With a heavy feeling of regret, he stepped back away from the doorway to the inner chamber. He was the captain now. This was no time for contemplation. He had a mission to complete. He had his duty to the crew of this ship.

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada year 2246_

Doctor Leonard McCoy sat back on his haunches and wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, brushing stray hairs out of the way.

Jimmy Kirk had stopped the tears an hour ago and wore a distinctively pinched look as he cleaned the unconscious Vulcan off. McCoy hide his wince at what the boy was using – a dirty bloodied bandage soaked in sterilizing solution he'd softened with a quart of water. His neck ached, and his spine was stiff like an old man's but his patient was still kicking and that's all that mattered. Picking up his handheld sensor, the doctor waved it over the limp form for the fifth or sixth time, the soft hum of the tricorder echoing against the flat hard surfaces of the cell walls.

_An improvement… but not by much… thank God for that Vulcan physiology… maybe, just maybe…_

His eyes flicked to the young boy who was the thirteen year old version of his captain. "Hey kid, how'd you know what he needed?"

Jimmy gave him a blank look, eyes almost glazed over in exhaustion. "What?"

"How did you know that he needed more Masiform-D than the standard dose?"

He couldn't be too sure but there was something funny going on. While he'd been treating Spock, the boy had directed him to sites where the injury was worst, and seemed to know where the pain was coming from, had even replied to all the medical history questions he'd been muttering under his breath to himself to help sound out his guesses.

"I don't know… I just… I just know… Spock," said the boy, like that could explain everything.

McCoy narrowed his eyes, "You just know Spock?"

"Well… yeah."

Something inside of McCoy went off. If there was one thing included in the awfully brief medical dossier on Vulcan, it was that they had telepathic abilities which were not to be screwed around with; insanity was one of the side effects, not to mention disassociated personality disorder. Only those trained could use the techniques with any success, and there were bad consequences for both all the initiator and the subject if things went wrong.

"Did he touch you like this?" He asked urgently, raising his fingers over the psi points, trying to remember that diagram he'd seen.

Though the boy didn't say anything, he already had his answer from the casual shrug and averted eyes. McCoy took a deep weary breath and made a note that if they got out of this ( **when** , some small voice corrected, sounding suspiciously like Jim) M'Benga would have to examine Jimmy.

* * *

_Planet-side: Dessica II, year 2246_

Uhura took a measured sip of her Cardassian Sunrise and kept her eyes on the display behind the bar. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels in an original 20th century bottle, unopened, sitting prettily under pink lights. _That_ , she thought slightly irritated, really belonged in a museum – and was no doubt here because of theft. A Denebian shimmied into the seat next to her with a sloppy slosh. The creature blushed uncomfortably at the sound, luminous eyes flicking over quickly to gauge Uhura's reaction. The lieutenant hid her grin and tactfully turned the other way, taking the opportunity to glance around the bar. It was dark, with a bit of music in the background that she found too discordant to enjoy, and an ever-changing mix of alien species, all huddling intimately (or not, she thought dryly at the sight of the Klingon who had a Kaefarian by the scruff of his neck) at the various booths and tables around the place. The sound of conversation was only slightly softer than the music, and together, well, it just sounded like messy. Suddenly, her attention was drawn to the main door: bald, pointy ears, bearded. Nudging Xing with her foot, she flicked her eyes discretely in that direction.

"Two Romulans. Left 160," She murmured under her breath before taking a long suck on the straw, slurping like she was drunk, and quickly flicked out an old-fashioned make up compact. She shifted the mirror till she had them in her sights. They were all taller than her by at least a head, and their dark animal pelt coats hid the disruptor holstered by their left side. Just reach in, pull out and shoot – quick and efficient; she'll have to warn Spock before the away team went through with the planned ambush. As their eyes roamed the bar, looking for a place to sit, Uhura quickly went back to pretending she was busy with her reflection, running a finger along the edge of her eye.

Waving her credit waver over the scanner, she paid and navigated her way to the back, pretending that she needed to use the restrooms. The humanoid facilities were thankfully quiet. She found a nice dark corner just short of the entrance.

"Uhura to Spock," she whispered into the communicator, keeping an eye what was happening in the bar. She couldn't see the Romulans but Xing seemed to be very interested in something just to the right, out of her field of vision. 'Come in.'

There was a short pause and then her communicator fizzed to life: 'Spock here. What is your status?'

"Two sighted. They're well-armed – disruptors, concealed carry."

'Keep them within sight.'

"Yes sir."

Flipping her communicator close, Uhura tucked it back in the pouch against her pelvis hidden by the long draping hem of her black tunic.

_It's about to get interesting…_

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada, year 2246_

Leonard McCoy's eyes flew open at the sudden commotion overhead, loud clangs and guttural shouts punctuating the air. He'd fallen asleep in a corner with his arms crossed, exhausted from tending to young Spock. Shooting to his feet, his hand quickly groped for his phaser and aimed it at the open hatch. Under his breath, he swore. It'd been careless of them, lounging around and resting when the Romulans could be back to check on Jimmy and Spock at any moment, but Spock couldn't be moved without a stretcher and as hard as Jim had looked, there was nothing around here that they could use. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy scrambling over to where Spock was.

_Good kid…wonder what happened to make him grow up into Jim…_

Suddenly, Jim's face popped through the hatch, making all his hairs stand on end like a startled cat's.

"Bones! We got company!"

"HOLY- Jim! You scared the crap outta me! I could've shot you!"

The younger man's face disappeared and he heard the sound of his scampers fading into the distance. Forcing himself to get a grip, he turned to face Jimmy. "You, wait here and look after him," He gestured to the med kit, "You know how to use a tricorder?"

The kid gave a curt nod. "Yeah well you can monitor how Spock is doing while I'm gone, okay kid?"

Turning, he was almost out when there was an anxious "Wait!"

McCoy twisted around to face the boy, recognizing the sound of a frightened kid. He felt a pang at the thought of Joanna, the way she called out like that after a nightmare and he was leaving to go back to his bed. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring grin, "Don't worry, kid, we'll be back."

_That's a promise… even if I gotta kill a Romulan or two to keep it…_

* * *

_Planet-side: Dessica II, year 2246_

"Excuse me, gentleman. I believe you have something of mine."

These were the words that Spock said before cleanly executing a Vulcan nerve-pinch upon one of the Romulans.

It was over quickly. The remaining Romulan swung some kind of advanced disruptor hand weapon from the hidden holster under his coat and shot at Lieutenant Matthews who had been mid-lunge. Unfortunately the man failed to realize that Spock was his greatest threat. It happened fast – almost too fast for Uhura's eyes to catch. Spock neatly wrapped his arm around the second Romulan's head, there was a wet sharp snap and then the Romulan dropped to the ground, limbless and cooling. In the ensuing shocked silence, she realized that she had just witnessed Spock perform the Tel shy'a – the Vulcan method of breaking an enemy's neck, painless and instant.

With swift economical movements, Spock rolled the first Romulan onto his back, and quickly found his psi points. Reminded of their mission, Uhura glanced around discretely. Besides the turned heads and a bit of pointing and murmuring, no one seemed to be taking an active interesting. One of the security officers grabbed an arm and dragged the corpse out of sight.

When Spock's eyes snapped open, he gave them a cool look. "Beam the prisoner back to the ship; Lieutenant Uhura, you will accompany Lieutenant Xing aboard and begin a standard interrogation of our prisoner as soon as he awakes. The rest of the away team will beam directly to the _Narada_ using the co-ordinates I have obtained and attempt to recover my counterpart, and that of…" Spock hesitated, "…the Captain's."

There were several raised eyebrows at that piece of information. Uhura kept her surprise to herself and pushed away the sudden feelings of guilt that rose up out of nowhere. Flipping open her communicator, she joined Xing in the alleyway out of sight. The young Chinese man had the unconscious Romulan slung over his shoulder. "Uhura to Enterprise, come in please."

'Enterprise here,' came Scotty's distinctive accent.

"Three to beam up."

'Aye-aye, three to beam.'

Glancing at Spock and the rest of the away team, she closed her communicator and waited for the sensation of the transporter beam.

"Good luck." She called out, smiling when Spock turned to meet her eyes just as she disappeared.

* * *

_Location Unknown: The Narada, year 2246_

"Get down!"

Leonard McCoy spun around and jumped to his left, his hands scrambling for purchase along the slippery wet floor as he half-rolled, half-wriggled himself behind the nearest stack of abandoned machinery. Oh God this is disgusting... A fizz of disruptor fire exploded near his head, sending a shower of sparks over his face. He swung his head out of the way and winced at the slight burn, rubbing his cheek with his shoulder even as he slammed himself back into side of the dead terminal, breathing heavily. His clothes were now damp - goddammit! Suddenly, Jim crashed into him and tripped over his legs, hitting the metal deck with a hard thunk. Overhead, the disruptor fire continued.

"Got any bright ideas, Captain?"

Gasping for air, Jim shrugged and quickly got into a crouch, peering over the top of a scrapped bulkhead before ducking back down to avoid disruptor fire. "They're feisty aren't they?"

"Yeah, well you did take out two of them."

"It's still better than last time." Jim commented with a cheerful grin and swung himself up, phaser sparking out quick shots.

McCoy banged his head back against the dead terminal he was resting against and willed himself to stop panicking. This was a far cry from their escapades at the Academy. There, it had been familiar ground, and no one had been shooting at them with any real force – the most it would have been was a stun. The Romulans on the other hand, were out for blood and he had a feeling that sooner or later, one of them was going to get smart and decide to start vaporizing things. McCoy jerked his hand away when a streak of disruptor fire scorched the metal deck near it. Oh well, hot _damn_!

"Um, Bones, some help would be good?"

Rolling his eyes, McCoy hesitated at the sight of the pipes above their head, disappearing out of his line of sight. _Oh I'll be damned, maybe, just maybe…_

Switching his phaser to kill, McCoy glanced behind him around the corner, immediately swinging back around when that nearly got him a face full of disruptor energy. These Romulan bastards were really something – damn all those quick Vulcan reflexes! Still, he thought to himself, this could work. Grabbing Jim by the arm, he jerked the young man down to the floor hard.

"WOAH! Shit Bones! What the-!"

Swinging his phaser up, he quickly snuck a look at the Romulans and with his eyes squeezed shut, pulled the trigger. There was a snap fizzle and then suddenly, a loud hissing sound filled the air. Direct hit! McCoy threw himself back down, slamming loudly into the side of the dead terminal. Within seconds there was the sound of coughing, stomping and yelling. Jim snuck a look and turned to him with an incredulous grin. "Bones, where did you-?"

"I have known you for five years."

With a laugh, his captain scurried out into the clearing and fired several shots, quickly hiding behind the next pile of disused machinery when the Romulans returned fire. McCoy glanced around the scrapped metal he was pressed against. The Romulans were coughing and waving their hands madly, even as they traded disruptor fire with Jim. Feeling bolder, he got back onto his knees and aimed his phaser.

"First one who gets a Romulan has to buy the other a drink at the next shore leave!" Jim yelled over the sound of the vented gas hissing and the Romulans.

"You're on!" He yelled back.

Before they had a chance to get started however, there were several sharp fizzles of phaser fire and everything went quiet. Confused, Leonard McCoy frowned and narrowed his eyes at the pale white gas obscuring the doors of the chamber from view. There was the sound of a long painful grind, and the gas venting from the shot pipes slowed, leaving only the already vented gas to slowly drift like fog on a cold morning.

"Captain?"

McCoy's eyebrows hit his hairline in shock as he shot to his feet. "SPOCK!"

Suddenly the pointy-eared bastard was emerging from the midst of the white gas, flanked by several security personnel in plain clothes. He recognized Lieutenant Matthews, who he knew by name after the last time he had to set the poor guy's broken arm. Leonard McCoy had never been gladder to see a Vulcan than right this moment.

"You bastard!" He yelled, furious and relieved all at once, "you could've saved us a lotta trouble you green-blooded-"

Jim clapped a hand on his shoulder, stopping the tirade. "You're late Spock."

Slowly, Spock approached, looking at Jim with concern but saying nothing. His face was locked in a controlled fierceness that frankly, scared Leonard McCoy just a little. Boy, he _sure_ didn't want to be on the receiving end of that look because McCoy was hell as sure that if Vulcans had an "I'm going to kick your ass" face, this would be it.

"Captain, it is most fortunate that you have survived the shuttlecraft explosion. You shall have to explain the mechanics of it at a later date. I was certain you and the doctor had..." McCoy could have sworn that the Vulcan's voice got a little wobbly there, but it was probably just his imagination, "…Perished."

What wasn't his imagination was the way Spock was glaring at Jim. McCoy knew that look. It was the "I'm so relieved to see you alive and I can't believe you pulled such a stupid stunt, you big idiot." Oh yes, he thought dryly, he knew that look – he had a patent on that look.

"Happy to see me gone?" Jim wagged his eyebrows.

Spock tilted his head and shot Jim a dark look, "On the contrary."

With a fond pat on the shoulder, Jim grinned in his usual irrepressible manner. "All part of my grand plan, Spock, but thanks for caring."

The Vulcan shot Jim another dark look before looking around them. "We should hurry. The _Enterprise_ is at the ready to beam us out."

"Hang on, hang on – hold your horses," McCoy waved for time-out. "The kids, Jim – we gotta go get them. Hell, considering this stroke of luck, we might even save Spock." At the Vulcan's raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "The _other_ Spock, mini-Spock or however you wanna put it."

Jim nodded, his demeanor switching to that which was more befitting of a captain. "You three," He pointed at the security personnel to Spock's right, "go with Doctor McCoy. The rest, come with me." Jim headed in the direction the men had come from, brushing past the Vulcan.

"Captain?" Spock turned his head to follow the man with a perplexed look, "what are you doing?"

Jim drew close and faced his First Officer front on, "Spock, we're aboard the _Narada_ , you know what's going to happen if we let this ship go. We can save our counterparts but there's no telling what Nero's going to do – and we can't be certain that in a fair fight, the _Enterprise_ will be able take her. This is our chance, to find out about this ship, take it apart and discover its weaknesses. Best scenario is that we'll be able to access the self-destruct," Jim smiled grimly and then shrugged, looking away as if this was just idle talk, "Worst case scenario – we find out some interesting things about our favorite Romulan and run for our lives. I think it's worth the risk."

There was a slight pause as Spock considered Jim's words. "Captain, I agree to your proposal but I do not think that you should join us. Considering the nature of our mission, I cannot allow you to put yourself in such risk and therefore I respectfully request that you reconsider."

"Spock, I'm leading the away team."

For a moment there, McCoy thought that the Vulcan was going to snap that Jim was being irrational again, referring to the enemy ship as a woman, but the Vulcan merely stared at the younger man. "I estimate that crew moral has fallen to 77.3 percent at the news of your demise."

Jim smiled easily with an exasperated air, "Spock, this isn't a popularity contest."

"As the most senior officer, your place is on the ship." Spock stated with a hard edge to his normally mild voice. McCoy raised an eyebrow at that sort of behavior coming from the Vulcan. It was a worrying sign, and left him wondering if he should be preparing to treat someone (namely, Jim) for a black eye.

Jim gave Spock an inscrutable look, "Spock, I think you know my answer to that."

"Indeed, but as your First Officer, I must remind you of your duties and apologize in advance for what I'm about to do."

Just as a look of realization passed over Jim's face, Spock had already struck, his hand resting on the juncture between the younger man's neck and shoulder. Jim dropped unconscious like a stone, caught by Spock who neatly handed him off to Lieutenant Matthews.

"Get Captain Kirk back aboard the ship." He ordered in a tone that brooked no opposition, before turning to face the others.

Leonard McCoy shook his head, "You know Spock, he's going to kill you when he wakes up."

"Then I shall look forwards to his attempt at homicide when we return to the ship." Spock remarked with a sardonic lilt to his eyebrows. McCoy snorted in response. In the background, the lieutenant advised two to beam out and disappeared mere seconds later, taking Jim with him.

Turning around, the doctor waved for the security officers to follow him. "Come on, get a move on!"

This was the best damn scenario possible. In fact, considering the state that he left the young Spock in, he just might pull through after all. _As long as he hasn't gotten worse since we've been out here, playing cowboy with these Romulan scumbags…_

Leonard McCoy felt a burst of hope and took off at a run, eager to get back to his patient.


	15. Chapter 15

_Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

The experience of moving through the Romulan ship remained as unnerving as Spock's last incursion aboard. The open cavernous interior was dark and damp, and the environmental setting produced air that was almost too moist to be breathed without an urge to expel the extra fluid from his lungs, which were most comfortable in the hot dry air of Vulcan. Despite his physical discomfort and the tightly wound tension of his form, Spock felt well-prepared and focused for the task at hand. Finding Jim and Doctor McCoy alive and well had been unexpected and – Spock pursed his lips, emotionally satisfying. While there was no comparison between the sacrifice of the Captain's life for the success of saving Vulcan (and Mother, do not forget Mother, a voice inside of him whispered) Spock recalled the hours when he had been certain of Jim and the Doctor's death with great bitterness. He'd been plunged into a state of shock that he had not ventured near since dealing with the _Narada_ Incident in his own timeline.

Spock tensed and put his hand up for an immediate halt at the sound of something in the distance. He strained his Vulcan hearing and reached out with his mind, testing the immediate surroundings for Romulan presence. It was immoral to use his abilities in such a way but these were extraordinary circumstances. _One… 60 degrees to the right…_ His eyes snapped open and with quick gestures, he sent two of the lieutenants in that direction. A sharp snap of phaser fire was heard followed by a thud, signaling that the closest threat had been eliminated.

Seeking out a computer console, he quickly accessed the databanks, drawing upon his photographic memory of how he accessed the system last time. Spock frowned and raised an eyebrow when the Romulan systems blocked his access. It seemed that a security program had been activated, one that did not exist in his previous incursion. The only logical explanation was that the children must have tampered with the system, for there would be no need for security otherwise. Spock tilted his head and felt a deep satisfaction at evidence of his and the captain's counterpart's resistance to Nero's capture.

Withdrawing the small personal bicorder he had prepared aboard the _Enterprise_ , he connected it to one of the terminal ports and activated its primary programming, allowing the captain's altered algorithm to transmit and override the security features of the computer. Jim Kirk's plan to utilize the element of surprise in finding out pertinent technical information on the Romulan vessel had been considered, and Spock had prepared himself for its eventuality. It was fortunate, or he would have wasted precious minutes bypassing the security system. Vulcan coding scrolled rapidly across the console screen as the program ran and bypassed the Romulan security system. Withdrawing another bicorder, he began to systematically copy the databanks.

Suddenly, an alarm began to scream, low and throaty. Spock straightened, unable to suppress the shudder that went through his entire body at the sound. To his Vulcan senses, the noise was…chilling. Glancing at the nearby security personnel, he indicated that they should pan out and take cover. This had been expected. Sooner or later, someone was due to notice them. The download was currently 55% and would take one minute and twelve seconds till completion, during which time they would likely be accosted. It was fortunate that Romulan sensors could not detect race, only number – fortunate, but not for them. Spock took out his phaser and switched the setting to kill.

* * *

_Hidden Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

The news that Captain Kirk was back and alive spread through the ship like wildfire. Pavel Chekov was in the transporter room, on standby in case they had a tough transporter situation that needed his technical know-how, and so he was the first to see Lieutenant Matthews staggering off the pad with James T. Kirk's arm slung around his shoulder. The general mood of the entire crew changed dramatically at the news of the Captain and their Chief of Medical's miraculous survival. Monitoring communications, Uhura noted with alarm that there were standing orders for the sickbay surgical and ICU to be ready, and a full medical team to be in Transporter Room 3. Aware that she was abandoning her station, Uhura found herself running down the corridors snapping at midshipman to get the hell out of her way. The turbolift ride seemed to take forever, and it seemed every single person on the ship had decided to pass through deck seven.

Upon storming into the sickbay, she froze at the sight in front of her:

Doctor Leonard McCoy raised one irate eyebrow in her direction, hands held stiffly out in front as a nurse fussed about him prepping him for surgery. "Good Lord, Lieutenant! Do you _mind_! We're working here!"

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Nyota Uhura felt a laugh and a sob threatening to burst out of her at the same time.

Spock, the younger Spock, the one that Lady Amanda was missing, lay deathly still on a gurney being administered to by a team of nurses and doctors. Her eyes flicked to the left: Ward 1 that had been transformed into surgical/ICU, and there was a boy being guided into Ward 2. Her eyes widened as she recognized him – the captain looking all of twelve years old, skinny with dark blonde hair and filthy, his face lean as if he'd been starved.

Uhura started with surprise when Chapel touched her shoulder. The woman gave her a soft smile, "I'm sorry, Uhura, but you'll have to leave."

With an audible intake of breath, she nodded.

In the background, McCoy cleared his throat, "It's good to see you."

She nodded again, not trusting her voice in this moment. With a slight bow, she stepped backwards till she was in the corridor, unable to look away. The doors to Sickbay closed in front of her with a hiss. The last thing she heard was the sound of the Chief of Medical, yelling for someone to turn the sterilite on and get him the protoplasers from the cupboard in Ward 3. Pivoting on her heels, Uhura headed for the bridge with a smile on her face.

* * *

Jim woke with one word on his lips. "SHIT!" He yelled, shooting up in the sickbay bed like something had bitten him. "SPOCK YOU _BASTARD_!"

Running a hand through his hair, Jim Kirk swung his leg off the bed in Ward 3 and sat, clutching the side of the biobed fuming. He felt like kicking something. _Or better yet someone_ , he thought mulishly. He was the Captain, dammit, and Spock had no right – _no right_ – to be doing his Vulcan nerve pinch on him like that without warning. He thought that they were over all of that, that Spock had come to trust him even if he didn't immediately understand the logic of Jim's actions because they had a understanding, or at least Jim thought they did, that he had a good reason for whatever decision he made, even if it would take awhile for Spock to figure it out and maybe even longer to agree. _I'm going to kill him…_ he thought darkly, _I'm the Captain and I'll be on that damned ship if I want to, who the hell does he think he is…_

"Dad…?" came a small confused voice from behind him.

He spun around and jumped up from the bed, spooked at the unexpected voice. It was himself, looking thin and pale and – _hey would you look at that, I was still mostly blonde back then, huh… interesting… and I haven't gotten chicken pox yet – that was the worst…_

He eyed his younger self and wondered what he should say. Slowly, as if unsure of his welcome, he watched his younger self approach, examining him like he was some specimen. _That expression…_ Jim swallowed dryly, and felt his chest contract painfully in a way that it hadn't for a long time. That look of hope on his young face, the softer features, the voice that could be mistaken for his mom's because it hasn't changed yet, but most of all it's the hope. That desire for acknowledgement, recognition, validation, for _something_. He lost that by age fourteen.

"Hey," He said weakly.

When the boy sprinted over and collided with him, forcing him to lean back hard against the edge of the biobed behind him. Feeling like he was in a dream, certain that universe ending paradoxes were waiting to strike him down with all their fury, Jim raised his hand and reached for the boy's head. The messy blonde hair was oily, and the smaller form was stank of sterilizing solution and something thick and cloy. His hand trembled. Feeling like his fingers were burning, Jim touched the back of the boy's head, combing through the clumps of messy hair. Those arms tightened almost painfully around his ribs.

"Dad," He murmured against Jim's sternum.

Oh, no. Oh _hell_ no. It'd been bad enough back on the _Narada_ , the longer this went on – this delusion – this deception – this CRAZINESS! Jim wished Bones was here, to be a buffer, to be that father figure he couldn't be, refused to be and would completely fail at being.

_Wonder what Bones would have to say about my psyche profile if he walked in on this…_

Jim glanced at a nearby console: Stardate 2246.02.45. Frank was drinking himself into another case of liver failure. Mom was on the _USS Douglas_ for a short six month mission. He had skipped all the classes they could offer him at Riverside Public and he'd spent most of his day hanging out in the fields and his nights looking up at the stars. _Except Frank broke the telescope didn't he… and then he ended up in hospital… and then they ruled that he was unfit to be a parent and I was on the next ship out to Tarsus IV, where my mom was going to pick me up within the week… except the ship got into trouble and she arrived two months too late… even later than Starfleet with all the useless food…_

Jim rubbed his thumb along the boy's cheek crusted with a bit of dark green. Blood, he realized; Spock's blood, the _other_ Spock's blood, but blood all the same and he's struck by an odd feeling and a rush of intense fear. While he was here, every second, Spock was on that ship – Jim removed the arms from around his waist and pushed the boy back. His blue eyes stared up at him, burning with questions and uncertainty.

"I'm not -"

The intercom whistled:

'Bridge to Captain Kirk.'

Jim took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, "Kirk here."

'Captain, the _Narada_ is scanning for us. With the drain on the engines from the cloak, sir, we won't be able to maintain our orbit for long.'

Dammit. That meant the away team's cover was blown and Nero knew they were out here. Was Spock's team discovered? Were they captured already?

"Got it – give me five, wait for my signal then warp outta here as fast as you can for somewhere far – like Helaspont."

'Sir?'

He turned to glare at the intercom even though Sulu couldn't see him, "Sulu, _wait_ for my signal. You have the conn – you will do everything you can to get the ship somewhere safe and don't look back. Commander Spock and myself will take care of ourselves, is that understood?" There was a long pause; Jim frowned, "Is that _understood_ , Lieutenant?"

'… Y-yes sir.'

"Good. If we are not back aboard the _Enterprise_ within 48 standard hours – you will consider us lost or hostaged; Doctor McCoy will be promoted to Acting Captain, and you as First Officer, with all the full rights and privileges thereof. Note that in my log. Kirk out."

Jim ran a hand through his hair and felt his nerves grind like chalk on wood. He should be on the _Narada_ , heading the away team, doing what he did best and not here.

"I'm sorry," He said, awkward because there was nothing else he could say.

His young self stood back, confused. "Dad…?"

Hugging his younger self hard, he wished he could say more, explain properly why he was leaving, why this man that looked like his father wasn't abandoning him, no because, he wasn't their father at all. "I'm sorry," Jim said and then let go abruptly, backing away towards the door, "But I have to go… I've got –" _to be the captain, to do the Starfleet thing, do the right thing, be with my crew, to be with Spock because damn foolish Vulcan will get himself killed without me_ "–the ship, I've got to – I'm sorry. I'll be back, I'm sorry, I'm…"

_I'm not our father._

"This is important. I need to go." He whispered, shaken because the words were so familiar.

They've been spoken by his mother and regurgitated a million other ways in a million other scenes. He'd always reasoned that she was doing it for him – for all of them, the whole fucking Federation and peace and all that. But it'd never been enough, and he had always said that he wouldn't do it, wouldn't say it, that he wouldn't be him on the other hand saying these careless callous words. For a long silent moment, they regarded one another. He watched as the expression on that familiar face changed, the way that the iron blinds came down, and suddenly it wasn't a stranger in front of him, but someone he knew.

"Good luck." His younger self said tonelessly.

"Thanks." He murmured back, already looking away, already elsewhere, "Look after Spock."

Jim didn't wait for the sickbay doors to finish opening before he was through and running to the transporters.

* * *

_Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

Spock leaped, landing neatly on his feet a level down and rolled swiftly to the side, dodging disruptor fire that scorched the air after him. He jumped over the low lying operations console and took cover. He was panting, affected by the warm tropical damp of the ships environmental settings. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on reaching a light meditative state, the second foundation of inner breath – peaceful but fully aware. Noises of the systems running, the thrum of the engines, the inertial dampers, the cooling systems, the ventilation and – Spock squeezed his eyes shut in concentration – _breathing_. The Humans were immediately distinguishable – fast, shallow breathes accompanied by heartbeats sluggish by Vulcan standards. The Romulans…

Eyes closed, Spock spun around and fired upon the Romulan who had attempted to sneak up on him from the right. Trusting his instincts, Spock ran forward with his phaser secure in his belt, ducked a disruptor blast aimed for his head and blindly threw himself over the ledge, hands outstretched in freefall. His hands hit the edge of a platform with enough force to break Terran fingers. Using it to break his momentum for 0.3 of a second, Spock released his hold just as inertial started to pull, swinging himself onto the gangway below. Spinning, he snatched his phaser from his belt and fired up at the Romulan who had been tracking him. There was a surprised grunt and then silence. Spock opened his eyes in time to see the body fall.

A disruptor blast burnt the metal deck next to him and Spock dived to the left, quickly rolling himself behind the cover of a nearby column. More Romulans were coming – he could hear their footsteps clanging against the neutronium plating like archaic war drums. His team of four men was outnumbered three to one. It seemed the worst case scenario Jim had imagined was coming to fruition.

Flipping open his communicator, Spock calmed his breaths: "Spock to Abrahas."

'Abrahas here, sir!' The Lieutenant's voice sounded harsh with his breathless panting.

"Lieutenant, do you have the bicorder?"

'Yes sir!'

"Then I order you and your men to evacuate immediately. Hail the _Enterprise_ and beam yourselves out before the shields are raised."

'Yes sir, but what about –?'

"The sensors will not be able to differentiate between Romulans and Vulcans. I shall escape another way. You have your orders, Lieutenant. Initiate the set diversion and beam your team out."

There was a pause, 'Yes sir.'

Satisfied that the men would escape, Spock scanned his immediate surroundings; it appeared that he was drawing closer to the maintenance section, perhaps even engineering. He stilled and took cover behind a bulkhead as a member of Nero's crew ran past, keeping quiet until he was absolutely certain the Romulan would not be returning this way. Drawing upon the memories from the mindmeld with the Romulan crewmember, Spock quickly lost himself within the labyrinthine corridors of the _Narada_ ; disabling the shields and weapons would be his top priority. In the distance, there was the sound of an explosion, the diversion that had been planned in order to beam off the ship. The away team was back on the _Enterprise,_ which meant that he was now on his own.

Steeling himself, Spock located the nearest maintenance shaft and began to climb.

* * *

_Hidden Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

Jim stared at the away team standing on the transporter pad and felt like demoting all of them down to lavatory duty. Spock not only undermined his authority but now it seemed that he had deemed it okay to go on a one-way suicidal mission out of a personal vendetta. So much for Surak and logic! Death wasn't on his list of things to do and Spock wasn't going to write himself off like some tragic unsung hero, not on his watch. _Oh no you don't you pointy-eared bastard! You owe it to me to let me win at least one stupid tridimensional chess match, you cocky bastard!_

"It was a direct order, sir." The lieutenant replied stiffly, "He ordered us to bring back the files."

Jim glared at the lieutenant; if he listened to every damned word out of Spock's mouth, he would have signed himself into a mental institution a year ago. "You do know that we _cannot_ beam the commander aboard via sensors as Romulans and Vulcans register as the same species with our current sensor capabilities, _don't_ you?"

The man, who was probably the same age as him, swallowed fearfully. "Yes sir, the commander was aware –"

"Oh he _was_ , was he?"

Spock was a dead Vulcan. He glanced down at the bicorder tucked into the crewman's utilities belt. If Spock sacrificed himself for a stupid bunch of files… "Get that to Communications." Jim ordered in a low growl, "Give me your phaser and grenades and clear the pad."

The security personnel scattered and quickly submitted themselves to the medics for decontamination. Jim hit the intercom button.

"Kirk to Uhura."

'Uhura here. Captain…?'

"Yeah it's me. Sending information about the Romulan ship to your department – get your best Romulan expert to look into it. For the ship specs, get Scotty. Between your people and his people, I want you to find out how to tear that bastard apart, you hear."

'On it, Captain.'

"Good. Kirk out."

Roughly snapping the utilities belt around his hips, Jim gave Chekov a cursory look, taking his place on the pad. "Ensign, put me down near the enemy bridge if you can.'

"Ah… Captain…" Chekov stuttered with a grimace, "I'm sorry."

" _What_?" He demanded, "That's a direct order, Ensign. Beam me over to the damned ship!"

"The shields sir - the ship has raised her shields." Chekov shook his head, his eyes wide with apology. "I'm sorry, Captain."

His phaser gave a loud snap as he switched the setting to kill. There was more than one way to skin a pig.

"Chekov, alert Shuttle Bay that I want Shuttle 3 prepped and ready for launch in two minutes."

* * *

_Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

"Spock."

The voice sent an involuntary shudder down his spine. Spock lowered his phaser and stepped out from the shadow of the bulkhead he had been hiding behind. Nero sat in his chair in the middle of the abandoned bridge as if it were a throne, one arm leaning against the armrest, his other hand curled around an odd _lirpa_ -like scimitar. The anger, old and well-known, harnessed and focused rather than a blinding force of rage with no thought or finesse, curled in his stomach like fire. This man, this _murderer_ , killed his mother and destroyed his planet…

"It really is you."

Suddenly there was motion from his left side. Spock spun and unerringly pinned the other Romulan with his phaser. His finger twitched on the trigger.

"This is Ayel, my First…I don't believe the two of you have met yet. Or rather," Nero smiled mockingly. "You have, but my, _my_ , you have grown so much since we last saw you, Spock, I imagine you must have forgotten."

"We have not had the pleasure or the opportunity." He replied, polite with his words but insulting in brevity.

Nero's First Officer stared back at him, hostility tempered underneath a veneer of aloof arrogance. In their timeline, Jim had killed the man – Ayel had let his prejudices blind him and underestimated his opponent. The man held the same prejudices of many others, including Vulcans who had watched him with lidded eyes waiting for his Human blood to send him to his knees. Spock felt a flitter of disdain and turned his attention back to Nero, his phaser still trained upon the other man.

"I order you to surrender your vessel, for the crime of temporal violations including, but not limited to, willful attempts to alter historic events through force, coercion and manipulation of circumstances and people, leading to a loss of life, affecting the technological, social and political development of this time period. Do you accept these charges sir?"

The Romulan gave him a low-lidded look.

"Do you deny it, sir?" He asked, as expressionless as Vulcan control demanded and yet somehow underneath it all, his rage was present, coiled within the sharper consonants. "That you are from the future and your intentions are to knowingly affect the events of the past, thereby creating an entirely new chain of events shaped according to your own selfish desires?"

Nero gave him a non-smile, "Under whose authority?"

Spock raised an eyebrow at the challenge, "Starfleet. The United Federation of Planets."

Chuckling, Nero stood and waved his hands expansively, backlit by a field of stars. "We are in the Neutral Zone, _Spock_." The Romulan's tongue, more familiar with his own dialect, enunciated Spock's common name as it were a curse. "Your Federation has no arms, no ears, no _foot_ here," Nero sneered, daring him as he twirled the scimitar like a toy.

The image of his mother in her last moments flashed through his mind, intermingling with the new memories of the woman he had met, Mother of his younger self, still young with no grey in her hair and that perpetually bemused smile that he had grown to associate with her. The pain returned as if it had never left at all. Fear coalesced at the thought of her death again, at the recent emotionally compromised state that his captain and friend's fake death had brought about in him. The consequences in failing to stop Nero were unacceptable.

"Indeed, the Federation is not present," He conceded, his eyes narrowing: "But I am."

Spock turned his phaser 31.5 degrees to the right and fired.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this part is Nero and Spock having a fistfight and it gets bloody - if that isn't your thing, you've been apprised and can skim those scenes.

_Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

Spock reflexively covered his head as the terminal he was behind burned from disruptor fire. Pressing tightly against the cool metal, he glanced around the corner and critically assessed his surroundings. There was console damage from phaser and disruptor discharge – but not enough, he thought darkly, for any serious effect upon the operation of the ship, and undoubtedly there was an auxiliary bridge. Laughter echoed, deep and vibrating, causing Spock to tilt his head, attempting to pinpoint the source.

"Spock!"

He held his silence. The urge to stand was overwhelming but he resisted, bearing down on his back teeth. It would serve no purpose to reveal himself to Nero when the other Romulan lay in waiting. Nero laughed again, seemingly out of breath from his hysterics.

"One minute, you are a little whelp and then a few hours later there you are, fully grown and so full of rage. From the future _indeed_ – you were there weren't you? This future where I destroyed Vulcan– you saw it didn't you?"

A burning pain that rose inside of him, all those telepathic voices crying at once, the high fevered pitch of their terror sharp as a _S'harien_ sword in his heart. Death and destruction and – he closed his eyes: Vulcan, red and large and heavy, wrinkled with the dark furrows of mountains and ranges and gorges, hanging there suspended in space, the gradual disintegration, like an Earth orange peeling itself, unraveling, dying unto itself, till –

"Spock? Answer me _Spock_!"

Spock's eyes snapped open. THERE! 150 degrees to his left! Emerging his hiding spot, Spock fired three successive bursts before retreating. A harsh beam of disruptor fire hit the top of the console and he rolled to the left, attempting to avoid the resulting hot sparks. Suddenly Spock held back a cry of pain and clutched at his shoulder where a fiery splinter caught on his clothing. Roughly he tore the sleeve off at the seam and threw it away, watching as the fabric decomposed under the heat. The affected area on his shoulder was already blistering. Spock clenched his teeth and willed away the pain, disappointed for he had allowed his emotions to overrule his better judgment and thus allowed the Romulan to take advantage of –

"SPOCK!"

Spock trembled at the sound of his name but remained still.

He would not be provoked. Impatience would be his death and he could not fail, not now, not so close – _logic, Spock, use it! It's your strength! You use what you've got!_

Yes, logic – the facts:

Nero and his First Officer were two while he was one; only the First Officer had a disruptor but that was sure to change for once the rest of Nero's crew have determined that there were no more hidden explosives or any other intruders aboard the ship, they will no doubt congregate upon the bridge, leaving him with even more targets. If he chose to escape, the Romulans were more familiar with the layout of the vessel and would undoubtedly track him down before he could find a suitable method of leaving the ship; and if he should manage to track down the Romulan vessel's transporter room, there would still be the issue of shields, which would prevent his attempt. And should he track down the shuttle bay, if indeed such a vessel (whose primary function was after all, mining) possessed one…

_Logically, Jim, the chances of my survival are less than 8.5 percent…_

_That good huh?_ The sound of his captain's voice was low, teasing, grating.

 _You are mocking me, Captain…_ Spock frowned and immediately felt foolish for speaking to a mental projection, even though he had long become accustomed to assigning Jim Kirk to the role of polemicist within his own meanderings.

 _Yup,_ came the mirage's cheerful rejoinder. _Look, Spock – all warfare is based on deception; if your opponent has a rotten temper, irritate him; be weak, so he gets arrogant; if he's strong, evade him; if his forces are united, separate them; feign disorder, and then Spock… crush him…_

Spock tilted his head: Sun Tzu, "The Art of War", an ancient text of the old Earth country of China, incorrectly quoted by Jim during one their fascinating conversations which began as a discussion on chess strategy and gradually migrated to something else entirely:

_You wanna know why I can give you a run for your money? Because I don't care about elegance or order or any of that crap you're into – I know you, Spock, underneath all that cool exterior you're really an aesthete; it's not just cold logic to you, it's grace from chaos… you want game play that is elegant, so many moves for a check, a plan from beginning to end – and that's why my illogical moves win… Spock, nothing's wrong with being logical, but in a hopeless situation, the only logical thing to do is to be desperate…_

His head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps: the Romulan crew, at least – he concentrated – five of them. Spock had no sonic grenades, nothing to take out a number of targets with one decisive hit. With their presence, his chances of engaging Nero grew less and less, and his chances of –

_STOP THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVEN'T GOT! Dammit Spock, this isn't a situation where you're fighting on a ship, with a fully-charged phaser array and an armory of torpedoes – you're alone here, you're outnumbered and out-gunned, you need to make do with what you have and fill in the gaps, think guerrilla warfare, not Starfleet._

Spock blinked as his mind spun, attempting to break out of his standard thought patterns. This was not the first time that he had been pinned by a more powerful enemy, and previously in his experience with the captain, they had usually been able to effect an escape through diversion or creative usage of what materials were at hand. Spock glanced down at himself, mentally reviewing his itinerary. He had carried no sonic grenades, but – _but…._

Spock looked down at the phaser in his hand, one of many he had. A furrow came to his brow as a memory came to him, presenting him with an unorthodox solution.

_Yes, Spock, yes, that's it, yes…_

With uncertain hands, Spock slowly detached the phaser from the pistol grip, turned it over and twisted the supercharge control on the back to the maximum setting. A small ascending whine signaled imminent overload. Getting into a crouch, Spock threw it hard in the direction of the approaching Romulans, covered his ears and hit the floor.

_BOOM._

* * *

_Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Shuttle Bay year 2246_

Jim Kirk ran down the corridor towards the shuttle bay, "MOVE! MOVE! _MOVE_!" He yelled, waving his hand impatiently as he sidestepped random midshipman, all shocked but attempting to obey his orders. One or two slammed themselves against the wall and one enterprising young lady even dropped down on her stomach, letting him leap over her since her trolley took up most of the corridor. He glanced back at her even as he kept running to note that she was from Engineering and a blonde, promising himself that she was going to get a field promotion as soon as he got back.

Just as he rounded on the shuttle, Jim slammed to a stop mid-stride. "Sulu! What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to look after the ship!"

The helmsman gave a curt and respectful nod, "Yes sir, but by regulation 33.9, a Starfleet captain should not under any circumstances leave on ship's business without the attendance of at least two officers, one of whom should be a security officer or a medic."

Jim gave Sulu a long look, wondering if the lieutenant was also going to bring up the fact that when either Captain or First Officer had been compromised, under no circumstances was the remaining CO be allowed to undertake any duties or mission that would make them similarly indisposed or incapacitate them for command. "I'm going, Lieutenant," he stated flatly, "now I gave you a direct order, so get back to helm and take the conn."

The helmsman shook his head, "You misunderstand, Captain, I'm not here to stop you."

"Then what are you doing here?" He said impatiently; by now he could have been aboard the shuttle and on his way. Jim wished that Sulu would either spit it out or go away as every second mattered; when the _Narada_ pinpointed their location, Nero would come at them all disruptors blazing and he preferred avoiding a confrontation if they could.

"I'd like to come with you and all due respect, sir – you _need_ us." Sulu said solemnly. _And I'm not letting you get the commander back all on your own…_ it wasn't said but that was the implication. Jim shook his head when his brain abruptly noted that Sulu used a plural descriptive.

"Wait a minute, how many of you are there?"

To his surprise, six other officers filed out from behind the shuttle and came to a parade rest. Jim looked over the closest officer, Tamura, who raised one finely manicured eyebrow, her slender dark Japanese eyes confronting his surprised blue ones. She'd changed from the dress-type uniform and was in plain black pants and undershirt, as was the other female officer, Martine. Jim knew that Spock liked her ("I do not _like_ anyone, Captain," Spock said, raising an incensed eyebrow in his direction, "She is a very efficient officer; I admire her attitude and nothing more – there is something to be said about a traditional Japanese work ethic.") and from the few times he had interacted with her, she obviously thought the sun shone out of his XO's ass. Jim cocked a grin at her, which she returned with a tilt of her head, terrifyingly reminiscent of said First Officer.

_Spock, you're corrupting the poor girl…_

"Permission to join the away team, sir." Tamura said in her low husky voice.

It didn't sound like a request so much as a thinly veiled demand. Jim glanced at each of their faces; Hadley, Lemli, Leslie, Martine, O'Connell, Sulu and Tamura. Between the seven of them, he had security, weapons, medical, helm and tactical. _Sulu, you dog_ , he thought affectionately and threw his helmsman a sly look before turning back to Tamura.

"Permission granted," said Jim with all solemnity but then broke out in a crooked grin at the answering expressions of relief and smiles. "Don't make me regret it."

From the looks he got for that, they were not going to disappoint.

* * *

_Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Deck 7 Sickbay, year 2246_

"I want to go inside!"

"For the fourth time, you cannot go inside! It's a sterile room – do you understand what that is?"

Christine Chapel hurried from Ward 2 looking for her wayward charge and watched as Doctor M'Benga continued to argue in his usual patrician manner with the twelve year old version of their captain. Doctor Talleria was frowning at the intercom, calling for security personnel. Chapel shook her head and crossed her arms in exasperation, not sure if she was bemused or worried. This didn't look good, but then she had been warned with a lot of eyebrow wagging and gesticulating by Doctor McCoy that she was to expect a genuine Kirk.

"Get outta my way!" The young boy yelled and shoved at M'Benga hard.

The tall African-English doctor glowered and neatly stepped to the side, unaffected when the boy slammed into him in his attempt to run around and they grappled with each other, each refusing to concede. The Sickbay doors hissed open and a security officer rushed in, looking confused at the sight that awaited him. From the look on his face, he obviously didn't think of a twelve year old as a threat.

"Hurry then!" Doctor Talleria ordered, "do something!"

Quickly sizing up the situation, the man made to grab the boy under the arms and lift him up. There was yelling and cursing and the next thing they knew, Lieutenant Abrahas had staggered back, swearing from a bloodied nose and M'Benga was clutching at his knee seething in British slang. In the middle of all of that, Doctor McCoy stormed out of surgery, a furious scowl on his face.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING! M'BENGA, GET IN HERE! THIS IS A SICKBAY NOT A ZOO!" McCoy glared at each and every one of them, but softened when he met the boy's eyes. "Kid, we're going to fix him up, so just give us some time and you can come in, okay? I promise."

All the fight drained out of him, the boy stepped back, suddenly unsteady. Taking a deep breath, Chapel traded looks with Doctor Talleria, and went to guide their charge into Ward 2. Silently, the boy allowed her to prop him up onto a biobed, seemingly on automaton, a radical change from the little spitfire she'd seen just moments ago. It was, she thought dryly to herself, very like their captain who was in Chapel's experience, a very unpredictable man.

"You okay?" She asked, concerned by his all-of-a-sudden quiet demeanor.

Shrugging, Chapel picked up the derma-regenerator and got to work, gentling testing the skin it left, pink and tender. The young boy gave her a baleful glance and continued to ignore her, staring hard the wall. She gave a sideways look to Lieutenant Abrahas who was nursing a broken and bloodied nose and hid her smile that a boy did that to a seasoned security officer.

"Chin up." She ordered, holding a regenerator to the boy's neck. Doctor Talleria filled a hypospray full of Stokaline and injected it gently into the back of the boy's neck. He flinched and she lowered the regenerator, taking the moment to smile reassuringly at him. "It's okay, just some multivitamins."

He glanced at her and then looked away, frowning like he was perplexed by something. "Why is my dad here?"

Christine Chapel raised both eyebrows, confused for a moment and then felt the axe drop. She could see the obvious resemblance: George S. Kirk could be the splitting image of James T. Kirk from a distance and even up close from the side – or rather vice versa. This was going to be difficult to explain and what did the Temporal Prime Directive say about something like this? Most of the contingencies outlined were for long jumps back or forward in time rather than a short fourteen years. And none of them had included information on what to do if one were to meet oneself – the regulations assumed that you avoided such a confrontation to begin with.

"Ah…"

The boy looked at her from under his eyelashes and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze front on, a suspicious expression crossing his face. "What ship is this?"

"We're a Starfleet vessel." She told him firmly, and then tilted his head to the side before administering the regenerator to the back of his neck. His sharp blue eyes quickly scanned the Ward before coming back to her, his expression becoming uncertain but determined.

"This isn't the _Kelvin_ , or the _Douglas_ and your uniforms-" He reached out and plucked at her dress, making Chapel gasp in surprise and quickly tug the skirt down for decency.

"Hey!"

The boy ignored her cry. "What ship is this?" He demanded, grabbing onto the regenerator and thrusting it away from him. "What is your registration number?"

Chapel hesitated, wondering what she could possibly say – there had been no senior staff briefing to cover this! For a moment she deeply wished that Doctor McCoy would come out and deal with this situation, but then the boy swung his legs the other way and slipped off the bed. He was at the nearest computer terminal before she could shout for him to come back. With deftness beyond his years, Jimmy Kirk slapped in commands on the touchscreen and brought up the information he was after.

"No! DON'T!" Chapel yelled but it was too late.

Jimmy Kirk spun around and stared at her with wide-eyed astonishment that quickly merged into apprehension and distress. The boy backed away when she came towards him, hands flying up as if to protect himself from her. With a final stunned look at all of them, the boy turned and ran out of sickbay.

Doctor Talleria rushed to the intercom. "Sickbay to Security! We have a young boy – approximately twelve – loose on deck seven! Secure him but do not harm him! I repeat – do not harm him!"

* * *

_Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

Spock swallowed down an inopportune cough and peered through the smoke at the area where he had thrown the overloading phaser. That area of the bridge was now twisted from the explosion, splattered with dark green. Vulcan blood and remains, he thought, and some part of him shuddered while the part of him who was a trained Starfleet officer coolly brushed away the observation and considered the carnage as necessary collateral. Through the haze, he spied a Romulan rise above the smoke – Ayel! Grabbing the next phaser in his hip holster, Spock fired. There was a jerk and the Romulan First Officer collapsed in a heap, his disruptor clattering on the floor.

Pushing himself off the deck and staggering onto his feet, Spock narrowed his eyes in the dim lighting of the bridge and edged cautiously out from behind the terminal he had been pinned behind. The bridge was quiet, seemingly devoid of life. Computer terminals continued to chirp and he noticed one particular console with stellar maps, perhaps the navigations console. Gripping his phaser with both hands for more accurate aim, Spock took on a classically defensive pose and surveyed the bridge, turning in a wide circle. He was tempted to call Nero out but kept his silence, taking the time to memorize the layout of the bridge and possible defensive points.

"You surprised me, Spock."

He spun around. Everything was still.

"It's not like you."

He narrowed his eyes, slowly turning with his phaser at the ready. Spock felt an urge to disparage the acoustic construct of the bridge. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint the source of the sound. Pushing his frustration away, Spock took a deep silent breath and attempted to reach the second foundation of inner breath, using the stillness of the bridge as an aide.

"You're supposed to be an ambassador, a man of peace."

Nero was wrong. In another lifetime perhaps, but in a reality where his world was gone and his people scattered, he was most certainly a man of war.

Spock turned to his left and fired, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction as there was the sound of footsteps clanking against metal decking. Striding towards the sounds, he held his phaser in front of him and fired again and again, chasing a dark phantom as Nero evaded him between consoles and behind bulkheads and columns. He leaped atop a console in a precariously balanced crouch and fired his phaser directly at the figure which twitched and collapsed. Suddenly in a blur, something slammed into him from the left and knocked him back, sending him crashing onto the metal deck.

Spock quickly rolled to the right to avoid something that came soaring after him and jumped to his feet, backing away to take stock of the situation. He reached up and touched the edge of his lips and looked at his fingers, stained in vivid green. Blood.

Nero sneered, looking very much un-stunned. "Hello Spock."

* * *

 _Dessica System: NCC-1701/3,_ _Hendrik Lorentz_ _, year 2246_

Jim Kirk secured the extra phasers to the back of his utility belt and tucked one in the holster he wrapped around his thigh. All around him, the assembled away team were double-checking and triple-checking their weapons and gear. It was an atmosphere of apprehension and anticipation of what they would find, but no one would describe any of the officers as worried. Everyone was prepared and considering what the crew had been through in the last two years, this kind of professionalism was to be expected and yet Jim was struck with a feeling of awe. Walking around them, he approached the front and leaned over Sulu's shoulder. O'Connell gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to monitoring communications, his emergency surgical kit by his feet.

"What's happening?"

The helmsman glanced up, "We're attempting a matching orbit, approaching the vessel now."

"Can they see us?"

The last thing they needed was to have the _Narada_ blast their escape route out of the sky. There was a moment of doubt, as his common sense urged him to put a stop to this madness but then something else deeper inside of him reminded him of the promise to never leave someone behind unless there was nothing left to abandon. Besides, Spock had saved his ass plenty of times – it was time to even the score.

"Lieutenant Tamura changed our ID to non-Federation, sir – as far as anyone is concerned, we're just a trading roundabout. I'll be putting us directly underneath the Romulans. She'll have sensors-only but no visual contact."

Jim glanced back at Tamura in surprise and felt a grin come to his face.

 _Spock_ , he thought cheerfully, _you are corrupting my crew, and it's awesome!_

"Isn't she going to think we're a little too close if you park inside her shields?"

"Captain," Sulu began in a low voice, something in his flat tone saying that he thought the question his Commanding Officer just asked was ridiculous. "I won't be staying within the deflectors, sir – but to use the transporters, I've made sure that our trajectory means we'll have exactly 78 seconds within the shields."

Jim clapped the back of Sulu's chair, not wanting to jostle the man. "Good work."

O'Connell frowned and looked to him, "Sir the Romulans know we're here and from their sensor sweeps, they've already located the _Enterprise_ but they're not firing for some reason, their engines haven't even shifted in power output to indicate pursuit."

_Spock._

It was the only explanation. It's what Jim would do if he was stuck on an enemy vessel, trapped from returning to his ship and helpless to assist them, and Spock was nothing if not thorough and considerate. Jim felt a smile touch his lips and mentally thanked the Vulcan for looking out for their girl. He frowned as he considered what Spock was probably doing in order to distract the Romulans – it had to be big and dangerous to be distracting an entire crew. A new sense of urgency came to him at these thoughts. Stepping away from the helm, he leaned on the doorway and watched as his crew slowly all drew to attention, each with two phasers, basic medical tricorder, several sonic grenades and two phaser rifles. He cleared his throat nervously; Jim was pretty certain that this was the time to say something brave and Captain-like, but nothing came to mind. All he could think about was the fact that his First Officer was on that ship, distracting a madman who wanted him to hurt so badly he'd actually committed willful genocide.

"Thanks for coming. Spock, well, he appreciates it, really." He said with all seriousness, looking at each of the crewmembers who had bullied their way onto this away mission. "And when we get back to the _Enterprise_ , I'll have Commander Spock deal with the lot of you for disobeying regulations and letting your captain go into danger."

There were a few wan grins in response to his attempt at humor, before Sulu's shout of warning drew their attention. Without hesitation, Leslie and Lemli took their position on the newly installed transporter pad, phaser rifles at the ready and Tamura hit energize. They disappeared as Jim silently wished them luck, and prayed that as the initial boarders they'd hold their own against any Romulans they might come against. Hadley and Martine took to the pad, phasers in hand and disappeared. Taking a deep breath, Jim stepped up onto the pad, having an odd déjà vu moment; just like Delta Vega, he thought wryly, and met Lieutenant Tamura's eyes.

"Three second delay set, sir." The lieutenant said, her soft murmur almost drowned out by Sulu who called out that they had 20 seconds left within the shields.

He nodded and gave her the most confident smile he could muster. "Hit it."

Setting the pre-programmed beaming instructions into motion, Tamura quickly took her place on the other pad and in a flurry of intense light the shuttle's dark cramped interiors disappeared.

* * *

_Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246_

They circled one another. Spock spied his dropped phaser behind Nero. The Romulan glanced at it before kicking it away roughly with a satisfied grunt, swinging the odd sword-staff in his hand above his head with practiced ease.

"Don't be getting any ideas." The Romulan growled, and nodded to the remaining two phasers strapped to his hip holster. "Take them off, Spock."

He narrowed his eyes and ignored the order.

There was a sudden jump forward and Spock quickly stepped back, his hand edging towards one of his phasers even as Nero raised the archaic-looking weapon, poised to strike him down. A real possibility, he calculated, considering Romulans were essentially Vulcans; with the musculature development that Nero possessed, he could very well send the weapon 100 feet through air before it hit the ground. Considerable force and definitely enough to pierce him in a short few seconds and yet –

Spock's hand twitched above the grip of his phaser, tempted to try.

Nero tilted his head, eyes flicking to catch the minute movement of his digits and shot the Vulcan a crooked smile. "Come now, Spock, wouldn't you prefer we did this the old-fashioned way? It's so much more satisfying isn't it? Surely those thousands of years apart from us, your cousins, haven't completely killed off the time-honored tradition of combat."

The insult brushed across his skin and fell away. "There is something to be said for progress, sir."

There was a sharp smile to his veiled insult that swiftly disappeared when the Romulan's face darkened in an unfathomable expression. With a visible intake of breath, Nero slapped the staff end of his weapon down on the floor, leaning it on a nearby console before shrugging off his long pelt coat and throwing his garment to the floor, out of the way. With his hands by his side, the Romulan gestured for him to come.

"I've put down the _Debrune Teral'n_." Nero growled, his eyes flicking to the phasers on his belt, "At least throw away your toys."

Blatant treachery was considered dishonorable among the Romulans, this much Spock knew, though only some Romulans adhered to this ancient code of honor, and they were usually members of the noble houses – but Nero was not an officer of the Romulan Fleet, he was a miner from a common house. Slowly taking out his phasers and mirroring Nero's movements as he stepped away from his weapon, Spock crouched down to place them gently on the floor.

"Good," Nero nodded with a smirk, and then leaped back to make a grab for the _Teral'n_.

Anticipating this, Spock sprang from his crouch into a sprint and slammed his body into the Romulan's, sending them both crashing into a console. Struggling to turn the blade away from him, Spock made a sound of surprise as they went over the console still grappling with one another and slammed hard into the deck behind. The console whined and sparked as the well-kept blade of the Romulan weapon buried itself deep in its circuits. Springing up, Spock bent his knees and held his hands before him in a relaxed pose of readiness, breathing long and deep. Nero was on his feet quickly. They both looked at the weapon and then at each other. It was useless now, too deep into the machinery without needing some time and effort to extract it.

Spock cocked an eyebrow and gestured for Nero to come, intent on incensing the Romulan. It worked.

With a roar of rage, Nero came at him, one arm fisted and ready to bludgeon him. Spock braced himself and ducked, slamming both hands flat into Nero's ribs. The Romulan jerked away with a grunt of pain and staggered back, his eyes burning. Without a moment of pause, his opponent sprung forwards and swung at him hard. Spock turned his head but felt a shocking pain reverberating through his skull as the blow connected. He fell back against the floor and quickly rolled to his left and onto his feet in a standard move of Vulcan self-defense. A fist slammed into the metal deck he'd been occupying a second before, sending a jolt of adrenalin through him – he was up against a worthy opponent, and would not have the luxury of making mistakes.

The flurry of blows, counters and punches continued until finally, Spock managed to catch the Romulan's arm and twist it sharply. A swift head butt startled him enough that he let go. Spock wiped at his mouth and spat out a mouthful of saliva-thinned blood, shaken. If he were Human, he would be dead.

"That's more like it Spock! Come on!" Nero yelled excitedly and staggered back, shaking out his injured arm and grinning broadly. " _COME_!"

 _Truly a madman…_ Spock frowned as words he had gleaned from a mind meld with the captain came back to him: _he is a particularly disturbed Romulan…_

While a madman was a dangerous opponent, in that he could not be reasoned with nor dissuaded from his goal with pain or injury, he was also reckless and his judgment impaired. That, Spock noted, would be his point of advantage and Nero's greatest weakness.

Abruptly, Nero charged at him. Dropping down, Spock swept his leg out. Nero slammed into the deck metal with a sickening thud. Before he could stand, Spock felt hands seize the material of his pants and roughly jolt him off balance. Grimacing he hit the floor hard, clipping his chin. Pain shot through his nerves and became background noise. Struggling with the Romulan, Spock slammed the side of Nero's skull into the floor in a vengeful snarl. A hand shot out with a growl, Nero grabbed his hair and reversed their positions with a twist of his hips and legs, till they were on their sides wrestling with one another. Blunt fingers scraped hard against his windpipe and Spock jerked back, scrambling to his feet only to be dragged back into the fray.

This was no time for contemplation or logic. His instincts honed from years of training as a boy and then in Starfleet, overrode his thoughts and Spock found himself reacting on  pure instinct. With a shout, he brought his hands down together for a crushing blow. It was deflected with a grunt by Nero's braced forearms. Immediately, he changed the point of his attack and grabbed for the Romulan's shoulders, intending to wrestle and if need be, strangle his opponent into submission. With a heave of his entire body, Nero flipped him onto the floor and followed this with an elbow slammed into his stomach. Spock gave a short scream as a rib broke with a crack and seizing the Romulan by the neck, he bit the closest thing.

There was a bloodcurdling scream against his right ear, reverberating around the bridge like a klaxon cry and then blunt fingers dug into the burnt flesh on his right shoulder, making him howl in pain as something twisted just so. Spock tasted blood between his teeth and with a grimace of agony, tore his head away. Nero rolled away and he was alone, lying on his back, the bitter tang of blood slick over his mouth and his right arm paralyzed.

Rolling over, Spock struggled onto his knees and then staggered, crawling with help from his left hand onto his feet. He was shaken by the violence but the ferocity of his rage continued to burn, demanding more.

He raised his eyes and looked to Nero, who watched him, leaning heavily against an abandoned terminal chair. They were both gasping for breath, bearing the evidence of their violent struggle in the rips and tears of their clothes, blood already collecting under the skin of their jaws and swollen knuckles, and – Spock felt the urge to purge his stomach at the sight of what he had done. The top of Nero's right ear was twisted where he had bitten it in retaliation for the Romulan twisting his fingers through the tender flesh of his shoulder burn.

Protectively, Spock covered his right shoulder and staggered back, taking the opportunity to spit out the rest of the blood in his mouth.

"Spock," Nero said hoarsely, his teeth tinged with green when he smiled, "I never knew you had it in you."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the shudder and the temporarily unfocused look in the other man's eyes. _To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself…_

With clenched teeth, the Vulcan raised his right hand and grabbing the wrist, forced his fingers to move, ignoring the pain shooting from his burned shoulder. An unexpected voice came to him:

_Blood loss, even if you think it's not serious, is enough to make someone light-headed and a little slower, even you, you green-blooded bastard – now lie down and lemme get some blood into you before you faint!_

"Thank you," He murmured, narrowing his eyes, "Doctor."

Charging at the Romulan, Nero only had time to shoot him a look of confusion before Spock's dominant hand slammed into his throat. Smacking away the Romulan's hands that attempted to push him away, Spock pushed harder, allowing the edge of the console to dig into Nero's vertebrae.

"This is for my mother." He said, shaking, feeling his nerves, the pain, everything coalescing into a hard pit in his guts –

_**SHWOOT!** _

Spock hit the floor and silently screamed at the sudden pain shooting up from lower left side, close to his heart which pumped harder and faster in panic as he lied curled on his side, gasping for air. In a haze, his eyes flicked up to the lights burning in the ever more distant layers that forced the ceiling of the bridge. Vaguely, in his pain and confusion, Spock noted that it reminded him of the construction within old music halls on Earth, meant to provide natural amplification. _Ah, the echoes_ , he thought dimly, with some satisfaction that one query had been resolved, _so this was the reason…._ A dark figure loomed over him, and Spock struggled to see the man who shot him in the back, quite literally.

The Romulan stepped over him and raised his disruptor. Ayel gave him a sneering look. No, it couldn't be, he'd shot – oh of course, Spock thought sluggishly, yes, he had switched phasers then and didn't change the setting to kill. A careless foolish mistake… and now…

_**SHNAP!** _

Like something slow and beautiful, the Romulan First Officer's expression froze and he fell, body frozen in shock onto his back beside Spock. The Vulcan blinked slowly, confused and then suddenly he heard someone calling his name.

"Spock!"

An unspoken part of him responded instantly with a flush of affection. Someone pulled him up and Spock stared at the sight of his rescuer – no, _rescuers_. The captain grinned broadly, a confusing blur of joy and anger and worry and behind him… Spock's eyes flickered to and fro for there was Lieutenant Leslie (specialist in logic solid systems – Engineering Dept, bridge duties qualified), Lieutenant Tamura (specialist in guerilla tactics – Security department, minor in geodetics), and Ensign Matine (specialists in weapons and weapons systems – Operations, minor in hand-to-hand combat).

"Captain," He rasped, at a loss for words. "You… should be… on the ship."

" _Spock_ ," the Human said sharply, "It's Jim today."


	17. Chapter 17

_The Narada, stationed near Dessica II, year 2246_

Jim staggered to his feet, letting out a huff as he took Spock's weight, the Vulcan's good arm slung over his shoulder. He cursed when suddenly Spock stumbled, falling hard into him before he compensated for the shift in their joint centre of gravity. At the corner of his eye Tamura slung her rifle onto a shoulder and moved towards them, a look of concern on her sweat-slick face. In the distance, shouts and yells rang through the dark damp cavern that made up the vessel's main body and an electronic horn sounded, its haunting cry reverberating through the air around him. Dammit, he had hoped the away team would have a little more time before the alarms went off.

"I've got it, Lieutenant." He grunted, giving her a warning look. Any moment now, Jim expected them to be ambushed by some very unhappy Romulan crewmembers; when that happened he would need all of his officers ready and in position. Seeing his point, she moved back to cover Leslie who was attempting to access the ship's systems.

" _Kirk."_

The gasp of his name was harsh and low. Startled, Jim turned sharply and stared at the sight of Nero, flat on the bridge floor with a hand over his throat and his mouth opening and closing as he rasped for air like a dying animal. Jim's throat tightened in memory of Nero's attempt to strangle him, the words the man had said…

_I'll deprive you of the life you should have had, just like I did your father…_

" _Kirk!"_ The Romulan rasped again, his body shaking as his face twisted with fury. "You… _Human_ …!"

Jim stared hard at the Romulan, eyes focused not on the fallen but on revenge. He could do it, lift his phaser and shoot the fucker pointblank. A part of him wanted it so badly he could taste the burn, like ashes on his tongue… _No, Captain, you cannot be certain that the Romulans will not pursue us in perceived offence for having killed Nero. In fact his death at your hand would almost certainly guarantee that the remaining crew would attempt to fulfill his vendetta…_

He took a sharp breath and then exhaled it. Even without the Red Matter device, the _Narada_ had advanced enough weaponry and shields to make short work of most planetary defenses. They knew from bitter experience the Romulans would have no qualms about firing on unarmed civilian transports and eliminating anyone caught between the crossfire. A shudder went through Jim. He had thought about this before, even discussed it with Spock, but – there was no chain of command, no military central administration and no government committee that could order Nero to stop. _You're right, I know – it's the entire ship or nothing,_ _but it would feel so good._ He imagined Spock silently nodding in agreement and again, Jim wondered if the Vulcan was in his head or not, and if he was, if he found it disconcerting or reassuring.

Suddenly the air around them sizzled with the high-pitched whines and cracks of phaser discharge, driving a surge of adrenalin through his limbs.

"Sir!" came Lemli's warning shout, as another barrage of shots were let loose. "We have company!"

Jim let out a curse under his breath and kept his phaser aimed at Nero as he staggered back with his First Officer in tow, "Still with me, Spock?"

Spock gave a small terse nod, legs moving sluggishly with him. Nero bared his teeth at him, his hands grappling with the grille deck flooring. "You won't escape…" the Romulan croaked harshly.

"Sir, we have to go." Leslie yelled, "The bridge – if they cut us off from-"

"I know."

If the Romulans cut off the route to the mid-section, they'd have a problem getting to the lower levels without using the maintenance shafts and there was no way they were going to be able to shoot and climb down ladders at the same time. His plans for a more discrete exit had been officially screwed when they'd shot two Romulans in their rush to get to Spock.

Nearby, Hadley gave a yelp of surprise as a disruptor blast got too close for comfort.

Nero's eyes flicked to the commotion and then back, his eyes smug. Jim felt a brush of nausea at the sight of the mocking grin leveled at him, full two rows of teeth tinged a muddy green. "You'll never get off the ship, _Human_ …" the Romulan rasped.

Jim secured Spock's arm over his shoulder, and tightened his grip on the man's waist. "Watch me."

* * *

_En route to Helaspont: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

Doctor Leonard McCoy took off his surgical apron and wiped hastily at his forehead with a cloth before storming out of Sickbay. He felt a brush of guilt at the sight of Chapel's startled face as he completely ignored her, but this was his responsibility, and he should have known, should have _known_ that this would happen – _dammit man, you're a doctor and you forgot that this was James T Kirk, whether he's thirteen or twenty-seven, always too damn smart for his own good and making trouble…?_

Grabbing the first security officer he met, McCoy glared at the young man. "Who's running the search?"

The ensign blinked at him, "The – the – Lieutenant Uhura, and Chief of Security Sherman, sir."

 _Dammit_! He'd been in surgery for four hours already – had Jimmy been lost during all this time? "Where have you searched? Anyone try to use sensors or the Intruder Alert protocols to narrow it down?" When the ensign merely blinked at him, dumbfounded, Leonard McCoy felt frustration boil over. "Just give me the damn PADD!'

Snatching the young man's datapad from him, McCoy scanned the checklist for himself. They had combed the ship's public areas, leaving out private quarters and the heavily guarded areas like Engineering and the Armory. It had been a long four hours and there wasn't a lot left on the list to be covered and they still had a missing kid on their hands. He stared hard at the screen and frowned – the hydroponics bay, the astrometry labs, and the quiet room/chapel were left, and judging by the time stamp on the checklist, they should have finished the search. And darn it, where the hell was Jim, the _real_ Jim, hiding! Captain or no Captain, they were in warp now and the damn fool should be coming back to Sickbay. McCoy hit the intercom.

"McCoy to Uhura."

'Uhura here. Doctor…?'

"I expect to see that boy in my damn office, you tell Commander Sherman that." He knew he was practically growling at the woman and it wasn't her fault that one wily kid could put one over an entire Starfleet Security taskforce, but dammit, even if Jimmy wasn't in any kind of immediate danger, the sooner he got that boy down in a bed and started cataloging the damage those Romulans had done the better – never mind attempting to heal any of it.

There was a guilty pause. 'We're still on it, Doctor.'

"Good." McCoy frowned, "and where's the captain, Lieutenant? Tell him that it's not funny that he's avoiding my comm. calls – I expect him down in my damn Sickbay on the double, you get him on the line, you hear."

'I'm sorry, Doctor, but Captain Kirk-' She paused, 'The captain isn't on board, sir.'

"What?" He snapped, his eyes widening. Oh no, he _didn't…_ McCoy rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He went after Spock, didn't he?"

The hesitance in her reply was all he need. 'Yes sir…'

 _Oh Jim… you stupid idiot! "_ They're both on that damn ship aren't they?"

Uhura really didn't need to respond to that one. 'Along with an away team assembled by Lieutenant Sulu, sir –' It was wonderful that she was trying to make him feel better but seriously, Sulu collected projectile weapons for a hobby and _fenced_ – Lord only knew what kind of havoc they were wrecking and the danger that came with it, '– ah, Doctor McCoy? Captain's last orders were to advance you to Acting Captain upon the completion of your duties in Sickbay if neither Commander Spock nor he returns within forty-eight hours time. You're ah… meant to have the conn as soon as you were cleared from surgery.'

The knowledge that Jim had actually thought that far ahead made him uneasy. "Isn't the chain of command to fall on the Second Officer, Lieutenant?"

'Yes sir, but Commander Scott's expertise is required on Engineering deck.'

Of course, McCoy sighed tiredly – this was Jim they were talking about, and the man was the sharpest stick in the box; Scotty was needed to tend the engines and that blasted cloaking device. "I see… well, Lieutenant, find some dark corner of space and _hide_. And for now at least, _you_ have the conn until I can find and treat my patient, McCoy out."

When he turned to face the Security officer, the young man stood to attention. He glanced down at his list – Jim put him in charge for a reason, and now all he had to do was think like the wily son of a gun. Shouldn't be too hard, he mused tapping a finger against his jaw, he wasn't a qualified psychiatrist for nothing… "There were no quarters searched?"

The ensign shifted nervously, "Ah no, sir, as all quarters are locked and require code or voice recognition."

_Yeah and when did that ever stop Jim?_

McCoy let out a deep long breath of relief. "Call off the search."

"Sir?" The young man said slowly, confused. "Are you sure sir? I mean –"

"Call off the damn search, Ensign! That's an order!" The doctor said gruffly, slapping the PADD to the younger man's chest as he headed for the nearest turbolift.

"Deck Five," He said as he got in. He knew exactly where Jimmy would have gone – God, how could he have been so dense? This was still Jim even if he was only thirteen; Jim, whose tendency for rash heroics was only overwritten by his insatiable curiosity and unerring nose for trouble. Sighing, McCoy ran a hand through his hair and wondered what he'd say to the kid when he saw him, how he'd explain this, _them_ , _where_ they were from, who his _dad_ was…

'Bridge to McCoy.'

His eyes flicked to the ceiling. Not a moment's damn peace. "McCoy here, go ahead."

'We'll be dropping out of wrap in five minutes, sir. As soon as we're in position within the nebula, Commander Scott recommends that we switch to emergency power standards to hide our energy signature. He's left Sickbay power consumption to your discretion, sir.'

"Leave everything in Sickbay except general lighting and you'd better tell him to keep all the turbolifts up and running. We won't exactly be helping anybody if we have to climb through five hundred meters of maintenance shaft to give medical assistance." He mumbled, rolling his eyes even though the woman couldn't see him.

'Aye-aye sir. Bridge out.'

The lift's speakers chirped brightly before the doors slid open. Striding past the bulkhead bearing the words DECK FIVE, he headed straight for the Captain's Quarters.

* * *

_The Narada, stationed near Dessica II, year 2246_

Jim flung his shoulder into a pillar to avoid a disruptor blast aimed for him. He closed his eyes briefly in frustration and gave a sideways look at Martine and Leslie, who were similarly pinned behind a gutted computer console. Spock shifted uncomfortably against him, a choked rasp of pain escaping his pinched lips. Jim looked over and felt his stomach clench at the sight of the blood sluggishly flowing from the aggravated shoulder wound. The trail now reached Spock's elbow.

"Captain," Spock said weakly, "I must protest. This is most irregular-"

"Shut up, Spock!" If he wasn't so happy that Spock was reasonably lucid, Jim would have shot the man himself for giving him the fright of his life, lying there dazed and confused, a sitting duck with a disruptor pointed at him. Looking around the pillar, he snuck two quick shots at the Romulan who had been his most persistent pursuer and tensed, ducking with Spock in tow when retaliation came swift and hot. They couldn't keep standing here, wasting their phaser batteries.

"Captain," Spock began, but Jim cut him off, not wanting to hear Spock complain about his rescue.

"I know you're pissed that I'm here, but I _swear_ , if you talk about Regulations now, I will _hurt_ you." He snapped before rejoining the shoot-out.

Did Spock really think that he would have just let him go off like that? He couldn't believe that his First would even consider that possibility – as if he could do that, not just to Spock but to anyone! If Spock thought he would even _consider_ abandoning someone to the mercy of an enemy then dammit, they didn't know each other at all. Jim was surprised by how much that cut him.

A quick glance at his chronometer alerted him that Sulu was due to make his second pass through the shields in seven minutes, and they had to be ready to beam out then. Jim spied a doorway leading to their destination and giving a shout, he waved for the crew to follow. There were angry shrieks, shouting and the sound of blaster fire behind him but he didn't pause to look back, trusting the away team to cover him and Spock as they limped for cover, half-running half-stumbling along together. The occasional hitched moan of pain from Spock sent a twist through his solar plexus and gave urgency to his steps.

"Just hang on," he panted, "a little more."

"Jim," Spock breathed noisily, words disjointed by the quick pace they were setting, "coming back here… was a reckless decision… but I… though my actions in remaining seemed reckless… it was logical at the time…"

He wanted to laugh or possibly yell until the Vulcan came to his senses. Spock could talk – ordering his away team to leave without him, effectively marooning himself aboard an enemy vessel? That wasn't logic, it was crazy!

"The ship cannot … Regulations are clear… the chain of command… the mission…"

"I know, I know, broken a dozen regulations, blah, blah, blah!" Jim snapped testily as they stumbled down the empty corridor, "You can file an official complaint once we're back on the ship, but until then, just shut the hell up and let me-!" Jim grunted as his shoulder muscles protested at their load when Spock stumbled, his full weight falling against him for a few moments. "Crap, you're heavy."

"Vulcans possess a denser skeletal frame than Humans… a logical development, to resist the gravitational forces natural to our planet…"

Jim felt one edge of his lips tug up in a grim smirk, pleased by the Vulcan's attempt to humor him. _You dispel tension with inappropriate commentary, often offensive or irrelevant remarks, to a comical effect,_ Spock had said when they managed to get through another skirmish with some race that didn't like them just because they were there. He had asked if Spock disapproved – and Spock's response had surprised him:

 _Jim, I can hardly fault you for using your own unique method to remain in control of your emotions. Despite the unorthodoxy of your method, I perceived a 3.2 percent increase in the level of your efficiency and a 22.7percent drop in your stress levels during our latest engagement. You are,_ at this point Spock had give him a look, the non-smile that he had when his eyes were slightly curled and his lips were pursed as if mid-expression, _in fanciful Human vernacular – in your element…_

"Lay off those tofu burgers, Spock, and then we can talk about your big bones."

He expected a quip but Spock suddenly stilled, dragging him to an abrupt stop. Jim's heart skipped a beat when Spock swayed dangerously, and gave a grunt of surprise when the Vulcan fell against him with a twisted grimace flashing across his face, teeth clenched tightly together.

"What's wrong?" He asked in alarm, fear crashing through him as he struggled to keep Spock from toppling over entirely.

"What's wrong, Spock? _Spock_!" A sharp twist of fear seared his stomach lining, hot and painful. Despite all evidence on Spock's body pointing to the extreme violence of the brawl, one that could have cost the Vulcan's life, Jim had expected his First to keep pace. Some part of him railed against the idea of Spock in pain, injured or incapacitated because dammit, that was meant to be _him_ ; Spock was meant to be the one who came for him, to be all Vulcan and logical and keep shit together, and be _there_ as the show goes down. Jim felt like they were playing the wrong parts.

"Hang in there, Spock, just a little longer," he muttered under his breath when the Vulcan looked to him, eyes unfocused.

A movement from down an intersecting corridor sent a jolt of panic racing along his limbs and Jim raised his phaser without thinking, sending a barrage of shots in the Romulan's direction. The Romulan ducked, coat tails fluttering as he or she disappeared around a convenient corner. Jim swore under his breath. This was not going according to plan.

 _It never does,_ Bones' voice drawled in his mind.

It wouldn't do to have a random Romulan crewmember gunning for them while the away team passed this corridor. Easing Spock against the wall, he hoisted his phaser and cautiously peered around the corner into the adjacent corridor.

_**SHWOOT!** _

Jim pulled back abruptly and cursed under his breath. This had to stop – NOW! He executed a rolling dive, firing at will and trusting his constant movement to give him some cover. The Romulan fell with a thump. He spared only a cursory glance at his fallen opponent before returning to where Spock remained slouched against the wall.

Breathing heavily, Spock's face was tight with barely suppressed pain. "I believe there is damage to my lower right ribs, sir," the Vulcan rasped, eyes shining with some strange sense of apology.

Jim holstered his phaser and lightly tugged up the hem of Spock's shirt. There was a lump under the skin, the size of his fist and faintly olive-colored. Spock let out a breathless moan and cupped the area, protecting but not daring to touch it.

"It is most likely broken. Captain," Spock paused and met his eyes, "I will only slow your progress, you should-"

"No." Jim said firmly as he realized what Spock was going to say, what Spock was thinking. Readjusting Spock's arm, Jim ignored the soreness of his shoulders and kept going, his eyes resolutely staring ahead. Losing Spock was unacceptable. The guy was an important member of the crew of course, but as his First Officer, Spock was absolutely irreplaceable, not only had he been privy to more of his private affairs than anyone except maybe Bones, he had been his fucking _rock_ in the rough times these last two years. No one in Jim's life had ever been so fucking dependable; Spock came through for him, again and again, even when Jim had no expectations. He had run out of fingers to count the number of times that Spock had saved his ass, and now that their roles were reversed, he felt a whole new appreciation for the shit Spock had to put up with as his First Officer. And those were only the official reasons, off the books…

"I am not leaving you behind, not even if I have to carry you." His eyes focused without seeing on the long dimly lit corridor. He didn't expect anyone to commiserate with him in his problems, didn't expect them to put in the hard work to know him, to understand his motives or his goals let alone help. He didn't even expect that sort of thing from Bones, though they could be said to be best friends, and yet Spock…

"You must-"

"Shut up Spock!" He clenched his teeth. _Don't tell me that you would do it differently –_ _I don't believe any of your Vulcan I'm-so-detached-thus-all-my-decisions-are-logical crap_. "When you're captain, Spock, you can tell me what to do but right here, right now, I am running this and so don't you dare neck pinch me or I will cite you for disobedience of a direct order, and Bones can write your ass up for therapy – for suicidal behavior!"

He knew these were not the words of relief that he'd been expecting to say, but they'd been scraping at his insides since he'd woken up, disorientated and pissed off in the Sickbay. His delight in seeing Spock on the _Narada_ had been summarily destroyed by Spock's actions – funny, the Vulcan had a knack for that. Finding out where Spock was and the fact he was without back up had made everything worse. The sight of the Vulcan in such obvious pain reigned back Jim's harsher retorts. Behind them, the sounds of their pursuers continued, an ongoing screech of phaser fire and, several times his skin pricked in response to a blast that seemed too close for comfort. But Jim didn't look back, his legs moving autonomously as he dragged, limped and staggered with Spock's weight at his side.

"Sir…" Spock rasped, pausing for a beat that seemed to stretch like silence between them. "Jim," Spock breathed, his voice taking on a softer quality, "I truly hoped we could avoid this."

The sincerity of the Vulcan's voice stripped away any lingering feelings of resentment and annoyance. He glanced over and found Spock looking back at him. He felt something in him soften because he got it, that under the uniform they were friends and Spock didn't take that lightly. "Be careful, Jim" Spock would always say before away missions, to which Bones' would lovingly snarl, "We will, thank you!" and Spock would raise his eyebrow as if to say, 'I wasn't talking to you, Doctor, so please stop being so offended' and he'd snigger about it. These days he was certain Spock did it on purpose.

"Me too," Jim agreed in a small tight voice, trying to save his breaths. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to but he didn't care. It was some kind of strange apology from Spock, the only one he was going to get besides a scintillating account of why it had been logical to neck pinch him and send him back to the ship like a disobedient crewmember. Strangely, Jim wanted nothing more than to NEVER hear that explanation, because then he would have to explain why he was here to club Spock over the head and drag him back to the _Enterprise_. Somehow he didn't think his blathers about friendship and epic destiny (he _still_ hadn't gone into detail over what he'd seen in the mindmeld, and it always seemed to be the wrong time, and he wasn't comfortable with admitting what he'd seen and felt from Spock's counterpart) was going to cut it in the face of Spock's dry logic.

Jim grunted under the physical exertion of keeping them upright and moving. "Shit, Spock, ordering the away team to leave you behind, that was reckless, stupid – illogical! Me, I expect such stupidity, that's my MO but what the _hell_ were _you_ thinking?"

Or rather, Jim silently added, what had Spock been feeling? If there was one thing that Jim had taken away from the experience of melding with Ambassador Spock, it was that Vulcans do feel, strongly, and tend to pack it down so tightly they didn't even recognize a motivation for its emotional bearing when it showed.

"While my actions may have appeared to be similar to… that particular Human excess… it was logical and-" Spock swallow thickly, "Please accept my apology for that… I did think… you- and Doctor McCoy…"

Jim read between the lines: _I really thought you were dead_. "You were, you thought… " he fell quiet.

They had developed a habit to do their reports after rough missions together. Spock didn't ever say much during those depressing paperwork sessions, didn't offer him a drink or even a pat on shoulder, a word about how it would be okay, because dammit it _wasn't_. Spock understood, and somehow the Vulcan offering his presence without trying to probe, sometimes even outright ignoring the emotional charge emanating from Jim, was more soothing than any self-conscious attempts at heart-to-hearts. Jim knew that it wasn't healthy to bottle things up but it felt like if he ever let it out he'd explode and it would never stop, and his pride demanded that he keep his game face on. The fact that Spock pretended to never notice in moments when it came off, Jim treasured that, more than he was willing to admit.

"Spock, you know me – more lives than a cat."

It had been an intense twenty-four hours, dropping out of warp on the edge of Tau Ceti to discover the Romulans breathing down their necks and arbitrarily attacking passenger transports, getting aboard the _Narada_ and then being _dropped_ by Spock as a "I'm glad you're alive" greeting – crap, why couldn't the Vulcan be more conventional and just give him a freaking hug already? Jim allowed a wry grin to surface as he wondered if he would have accepted it, or just asked Bones to give Spock an immediate check-up, Captain's orders.

"Sir!" The sound of Matine's shout caused his head to snap back around. The young woman was hurtling towards them at high velocity, her eyes wide with urgency, "Grenade!"

Swearing under his breath, Jim hurriedly pushed Spock against the wall and threw himself over to cover the man, his hands firmly clamped over the Vulcan's more sensitive ears to muffle the sound of the explosion. The sound of the grenade going off careened down the narrow corridor. The blast sent an almost physical wall of hot air and shook the deck, knocking him into Spock and them both against an upcoming doorway. Jim's ears were left ringing as he jerked back to look at his XO. Spock's eyes were squeezed shut tightly, and he was slumped against the metal door, listing to the left. Almost immediately Jim grabbed an arm to steady the Vulcan.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Spock!"

The First Officer gave him a weak nod and drew a deep shuddering breath.

Jim gently placed his hand at the edge of the torn section of Spock's shoulder. It was soaked in dark green blood that seemed almost black in the dim lighting, smeared in rivulets down the length of Spock's arm. But that was not the site of the deepest wound. Under that along the length Spock's flank was a dark sodden patch, a curled blackened crater signaling where the disruptor blast had hit. If Spock wasn't wearing black, he knew that there would be a scorched mark, that he would see the smears of green. The overwhelming stench of copper filled his nostrils and though he did not naturally associate the smell with blood, it was suddenly too much, too real. He forced down the rising nausea and wondered how much of that blood was from him dragging the Vulcan around and expecting him to just take it.

"Spock…?"

The Vulcan's eyes fluttered open and regarded him through thin slits, "I estimate based on my current perception and rate of blood loss, I will become unconscious in 4.5 minutes."

Jim nodded tightly and swallowed, "Right, let's hurry then."

"Sir…" Spock began.

Not listening anymore, Jim resolutely kept his eyes on the task at hand. Sliding under Spock's good arm, he moved so that said arm was slung over his shoulders. The high-pitched whine of weapons fire had died down a little in the aftermath of the sonic grenade, but Jim couldn't tell if that was just his ears or if they had managed to slow the Romulans down a little.

"Jim…"

"Not now Spock."

"No, Jim I must…" Spock said in a hoarse whisper, a complete contrast from his usual strong confidence. "Regarding my decision to render you unconscious…" Spock continued painfully, "I know that I sent you back to the _Enterprise_ without your consent, in direct violation of your orders… but, allow me to explain…"

"It's okay, Spock, you don't have to, save it." Breathless, Jim came upon an intersection and paused for a moment, fussing with the basic tricorder strapped to his utility belt to triangulate their position. "Tell me back on the ship," _when we have the time and you're no longer bleeding from two different holes and possibly one on the inside_ , he added silently.

The arm slung over his shoulders suddenly tensed and Jim looked to Spock quickly, expecting another injury to come up and bite them in the ass because he'd aggravated it somehow. The Vulcan stared at him intensely, his eyes burning with anger and yet the pinched strain of his face spoke of sorrow. "It was my duty to look after the interests of the ship and– Jim, when you and Doctor McCoy were… _lost_ … crew morale fell, Jim, no one was… unaffected, and myself most of all – I realized… I could not… it was difficult without you." Spock finished quietly, his exhaustion reaching its peak.

Jim averted his eyes to the tricorder display, peering down at it. Somehow, all the fanciful declarations that could have been made, all the heartfelt proclamations of friendship and loyalty, didn't quite match up with Spock's quiet and simple admission that he was needed. He was not the upstart cadet who had challenged him or a stowaway on the Fleet flagship who had charged onto the bridge and ordered a full stop mid-warp. No, he was _Captain_ and not just because of a rank handed to him by Command HQ but because he'd earned it, because Spock freely gave him respect, trust and loyalty.

Spock swayed against him, his head listing to the right as he started to lose consciousness. Swearing under his breath, Jim ignored the heaviness of Spock's feet as they gradually became unable to keep up with him. Listening to his own scratchy gasps for air to keep pace, Jim finally came to a stop when the tricorder beeped, letting him know that he was finally within range.

"Spock, still with me?"

The sounds of his crew holding their own against the Romulans no longer seemed so urgent, they receded until all he could hear was Spock breathing, quick and shallow. Jim loosed his grip on his First Officer's arm, and slipping it over his head, gently set Spock down in a seated crouch resting against a wall and dropped down to his knees.

"Spock…?" He hesitated before leaning closer as his hand patted insistently at the Vulcan's clammy cheek. Cupping Spock's face, Jim had to resist the urge to shake the Vulcan awake, because how the hell could Spock drop out of the game now! "Spock, shit, this isn't the time, come on buddy… Spock, we have orders, we're meant to be protecting the timeline, making sure Nero doesn't screw more shit up – you can't-!"

Jim choked on the words. "You can't fall asleep…" he finished lamely. Distant faint memories of that rushed mindmeld came back, bits and pieces that he had spent the last two years mulling over due to their weight. Jim stared at the prone figure, filled with panicked concern and a strange sort of pride, because one day Spock would be an ambassador, instrumental to peace treaties, able to hold the attention of entire Klingon battalions and Federation councils. Spock wasn't allowed to die, not today, not when he had that amazing destiny to fulfill, not while Jim Kirk was around.

"Come on, Spock, hold it together!" He firmly gripped Spock's face between his hands, urging the Vulcan to focus on him.

Spock's eyelids fluttered weakly and rolled up to meet his eyes. "Captain…" He murmured sluggishly, lips hardly moving, "I can no longer counter the effects of blood loss… please, I must insist – return to the ship… the crew needs you…"

 _And I need you..._ Jim flinched at the sharp pang he felt, startled by the intensity of his reaction and the automatic horror that followed, because SHIT he hadn't let anyone get under his skin like this since he was a little kid, and he'd wanted his friend Johnny to be his friend above all their other friends, to pick him first always, and he'd been left wanting. This was like that, but so much more. "This isn't a popularity contest, Spock."

"For … the crew and the mission… you must…"

He shook his head, "No, Spock you listen to _ **me**_ – we're going back on the _Enterprise_ and then _we're_ gonna kick some Romulan ass, _together_ , you got it? I'll get you back there, even if I have to carry you or drag you by your hair."

"Jim…"

"No, Spock," He said, his voice wavering from the massive influx of emotions, things that he rarely felt. "You're suffering from blood loss for fuck's sake – Sulu will make the pass, we'll beam out and the Doc will hit you with a few blood replenishment hypos, we'll fill you up and then you'll be fine."

A silence fell between them as they regarded each other, Spock with a haggard solemn look while Jim stared back with a stubborn tilt to his jaw. Slowly Spock reached up, hand shaking as it came up to touch his face even as Spock's eyes blinked weakly, drooping. "Captain… Jim, I am glad to have… taken the post of First Officer…" A look spread over the Vulcan's pinched features, softening them. "He was right."

"Who?" Jim asked quietly.

"Myself… the other, the ambassador… about you, Jim…"

Jim stared at Spock's face, not sure how he should interpret this new piece of information. He would have settled for having Spock's respect, trust and loyalty as his captain, and he'd been honored with Spock's extension of friendship. To be told that Spock agreed with the wily old Vulcan's assessment that they would grow to be a force to be reckoned with, that Jim would have such an impact on Spock that he would change his outlook and decisions, that even over a hundred years after his death, Spock would remember his name, honor his memory, and recognize him in an instant, that was… _pretty_ _damn_ _scary_.

"You have the worst timing in the world, Spock," was all he managed to whisper.

Jim grasped the offered hand and squeezed, a fresh wave of fear rushing through him at the unexpectedly cool feel of Spock's hand. With their higher body temperature, for the Vulcan's hand to be cool to the touch he knew they didn't have much time. "Jim, I wish that I could have-"

"Yeah well I'm not the tooth fairy," Jim said roughly.

Spock's eyes fluttered open a crack and Jim flinched at the slightly glazed look in those dark orbs. "Thank you…"

"For what?"

"Coming back… I didn't expect it," Spock said weakly, his voices slurred, and Jim felt a rush of affection at the paraphrase of something he would say to Spock, in the awkward aftermath of yet another rescue mission. "I am… glad and I want you to know- I am pleased…"

There was a lilting chirp and Jim jerked in surprise and alarm before realizing the sound had come from him. When the sound went off again, he realized that it was the communicator he had tucked inside his protective vest. Was it…? Spock met his eyes weakly, a surprised look crossing his ashen face before it dulled a little, not daring to hope and then just as quickly, astonishment when his senses had verified the source of the sound.

Flipping the communicator open, Jim responded with a barely restrained, "Kirk here!"

Sulu's voice was scratchy but recognizable, 'Sir, we're have locked onto your signal and are ready to beam you and Commander Spock out!'

A feeling not unlike euphoria hit him. For the first time, he realized that there might be something to that crazy theory Bones had about having their own personal guardian angel. "Ready when you are, Sulu!"

'Aye sir! Sulu out!'

Slinging one of Spock's arms over his shoulder, Jim dragged the Vulcan up onto his feet when Spock grabbed his shoulder and snapped, " _Romulan!_ "

Swinging his arm around, Jim pointed his phaser and pulled the trigger blindly, not caring that he hit anything as long as it would stop them from being targeted until Sulu beamed them out. Adrenalin roared in his ears and flooded his limbs with terror when he realized that his phaser had not reacted, had failed. His eyes flicked to the pistol grip – it was fucking _out of power._ With a sense of impending horror, Jim watched the Romulan launch himself at them, hand reaching for his disruptor.

_**SHNAP!** _

Blinking in shock at the fallen Romulan, his head snapped back around to face Spock, stunned and speechless. His shaking arm dropping limply by his side, bloody hand still clenched around his borrowed phaser, Spock faced him. "I've got you, Captain…" he whispered, before the taunt line of tension in his body snapped.

Jim caught his First Officer with a grunt, concern warring with his desire to squeeze the man to death and laugh in relief and exhilaration. He picked the second option.

"Dammit _Spock_ ," He grinned as the world started to pixelate into white blurry lights, "I told you: today, it's Jim."


	18. Chapter 18

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

"Emergency Medical Override, authorization McCoy nine-seven-seven-zeta-lima."

The computer chirped as it processed his voice and code, before the door opened with a hiss.

Leonard McCoy braced himself for anything as he entered the dark quarters holding his breath, trying not to disturb the cloistered sense of quiet inside the dark room. Standing there by the open door, his eyes scoured the room. Nothing moved. Taking out the medical tricorder he'd picked up from one of the Emergency First Aid units along the way, he switched it on and scanned the room, squinting at the display before his eyes flicked around the room once more. Two Human bio-signs; McCoy almost sighed in relief – so Jimmy _was_ here, he was just doing a very good job of hiding. The tricorder beeped softly in light musical tones.

"Jim…?" McCoy started then mentally shook himself; this wasn't Jim. He lowered his voice, not wanting to spook the kid. "Jimmy, it's me, Doctor Leonard McCoy, remember me?"

There was no response. Damn. He could force the issue but the kid might just take off again, and – _well, Jim did drive a car off a cliff when he was about ten years old. At thirteen…_

"Look I know you're in here. You can't hide from a tricorder."

McCoy switched the tricorder off and put it down on a nearby alcove. He had a feeling that he could scream his lungs out and Jimmy wouldn't come out unless he wanted to. If he was any kind of decent friend, he knew that he should be able to get the kid to come out of hiding; after all, this was a younger version of Jim, and he'd been analyzing the crazy bastard for the last five years. There were differences – for one thing, Jimmy freely expressed his emotions, something which the young captain would have a hard time doing. Despite Jim's smiling, teasing, scowling and brooding, McCoy suspected that more than half of that was just bullshit.

_Well, there's an understatement… he's your regular Mr. Act Naturally…_

But there were some things that were universal: Jim didn't talk about his problems, never had, and McCoy had a sneaking suspicion that the boy didn't like talking about his problems either. He stepped forward and let the door close behind him, and manually turned the lights on. The room was washed in warm mellow orange lighting. It was a rather unusual and vintage shade, but McCoy supposed that Jim had gotten used to old-fashioned lighting back home in Iowa and felt most comfortable in it. He hoped that this brought some kind of comfort to Jimmy too.

"There were a lot of people looking for you, you know, you had me worried… Now I don't blame you for running… some of the things you've seen, hell I'd be likely to run off myself. But it's been four hours and it's high time you come out now."

No one ducked out from the shadows. He wondered if a different tactic was in order. Jim was stubborn as a mule sometimes, but he always had one major weakness – people and that damn mile-wide compassionate streak of his. McCoy knew that this was almost underhanded but dammit, the kid needed to go back to Sickbay for a proper check up.

"Now I know you're probably thinking that you can't trust us, but it's okay Jimmy, I promise you – we're a Federation vessel and we won't do anything to hurt you or your friend, Spock, okay?"

There was a terse silence and McCoy wondered if he had gotten it wrong when a nearby ventilation grille clicked from its placement and clattered to the floor. Jimmy gave him a wide-eyed look, his body unfolding swiftly as he staggered out, worry clear on his face. _Mention Spock and then suddenly he's all ears…_ McCoy barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. At least some things never changed – Jimmy Kirk was loyal to a fault and exploitable on that point.

McCoy blinked at the sight of the boy in proper lighting, his face clean of grime from Chapel's attentions and showing off bruises and discoloration in startling clarity. What had seemed like just a nasty black-eye with a bit of swelling had been cleaned to show layers of abuse and half-healed tender flesh, lines of dotted maroon where the skin had broken. All his feelings from when he'd first found young Spock and Jimmy returned with a vengeance, making him almost sick.

"Good God!" He gasped, because despite what his initial tricorder scan had revealed, he hadn't really prepared himself for the sight.

"Spock!" Jimmy stammered loudly in a shout, blue eyes flashing with worry. "Is he okay? You were in surgery with him! Is he-?"

"Woah! Hey kid, calm down – let me have a look at you okay!" McCoy frowned and held his hands up to placate the boy, determined to get Jimmy back to Sickbay – _now_! When he reached out to touch Jimmy, the boy shrugged his arm off with a wild shout and spun away sharply to avoid him.

"Tell me about Spock! Is he okay?"

He eyed the pensive expression of the boy's face, noting the tenseness of the knees and thighs, and the hunch of his narrow shoulders. _Poised like a terrified rabbit ready to bolt…_

"If I tell you, will you come back to Sickbay?"

Breathing hard, Jimmy Kirk glared at him. "What happened to Spock?"

Doctor Leonard McCoy took a deep breath and held back his automatic demand that the kid listen to his elders for his own goddamn good and come back to Sickbay now, sensing that the harder he pulled, the harder Jimmy would resist.

"You'd know if you hadn't run off," he said quietly, "but he's going to be just fine… you know it would be good if someone could go sit with him."

"You telling the truth?"

"Yes," McCoy grumbled, feeling a burst of soft affection at the no-bullshit expression on the boy's face. "He's just fine, that Vulcan metabolism just doesn't know when to quit – now will you come down to Sickbay?"

Jimmy stared at him for a long moment, his eyes strangely hard for a kid and McCoy could almost see the cogs spinning behind those familiar yet alien blue eyes. "He got it wrong."

"What?"

" _Nero_ ," Jimmy growled, in a tone too dark to be coming out of a thirteen year old kid's mouth. "He said that I'd have an exemplary service record on the _Farragut_ , before being transferred to the _Enterprise_ as the captain. He said that Spock and I would be best friends, but Spock marooned me on a planet for attempted mutiny!"

A quick glance to the left showed that someone had touched Jim's computer terminal, the screen skewed at an odd angle. "Have you been reading the Ship's Log?" He asked sharply.

There was a defiant tilt to Jimmy's chin, "It's not hacking if it recognized my voice."

A surge of relief went through McCoy at the familiar sass. Oh it was a higher pitch but the intonation and snippy edge was Jim Kirk all the way and drove him absolute peanuts. Eying the boy's defensive pose, he approached carefully and gave the kid a wry smile. "Then you know that Starfleet sent us. We're good guys, Jimmy, we're here to take care of you and Spock, get you boys home safely. I know you're confused but you can trust us, right?"

From the way that the kid stared at him with steel in his eyes, the verdict was still out on that one. "My dad… that _man_ … that was me wasn't it?"

McCoy nodded reluctantly. There wasn't any point in keeping Jimmy from the truth. Dammit the kid had already accessed the Ship's Logs, who knew what other classified information Jimmy had perused. A sensible part of him, somehow able to stand back from this entire goddamn mess and see with objectivity, joked about the slings their asses would be in for this monumental cock-up.

"This ship is the _USS Enterprise_ NCC-1701, commissioned in 2258 as the flagship of the 9th Fleet." Jimmy Kirk said in a small tight voice, "These are my quarters. The cabins next door belong to a Commander Spock and a Lieutenant Commander Scott. You are Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy, Chief Medical Officer."

"Sounds like you got me figured out."

Swallowing thickly and visibly reigning in whatever reaction he might have had, the boy glanced away. "Why are you even here?"

There was restrained emotion in the small voice and McCoy felt a deep pang of the same helplessness as when he'd stood on that porch in Iowa and was told that Jimmy Kirk was dead. Like a switch had been flicked inside him, Jimmy Kirk changed before McCoy's eyes; he wasn't a patient or even the objective of a mission, he was _a boy_. Jimmy was alive but he had had been taken from his home, mistreated, starved and terrorized, all because of what he could one day become. That was a whole other level of hatred. "You were never meant to go through this. We're here to preserve the timeline, and that means getting you back home, son."

Jimmy's hands were fisted by his sides and his face was completely blank, even though his eyes were burning brightly with a fierce swirl of emotions. "You guys came back from the future to stop the Romulans, didn't you? Why didn't you go back further? Why didn't you!"

McCoy shook his head, because did Jimmy think that he hadn't thought about this himself? It was practically the first thing he thought about when being issued with this damn mission! They could stop the _Kelvin_ from losing most of its 800 crew and give Jim a childhood with his dad… Yeah, they could stop the _Narada_ from destroying the _Kelvin_ , but why stop there? They could do _better_ – they could stop Tarsus IV from ever happening. But that way led to craziness, _hubris_ …

"Dammit Jimmy, we couldn't. Our mission wasn't-"

"But you just said!" The boy shouted, "You're here to preserve the timeline! Why didn't you stop _everything_ he did! Make things the way they were supposed to be!"

Air rushed out of the doctor's lungs, as his mind suddenly went back to the conversation a week ago, when the year was still 2260. Jim had tracked him down after a confidential meeting with Spock over their latest mission, demanding a drink and McCoy had broken out that bottle of Saurian brandy he'd been saving up for an occasion. Going back in time wasn't the occasion he had been hoping to drink to but Jim had needed it… And what Jim had said… ' _Bones, we could stop everything Nero did… make things the way they're supposed to be.'_

The conversation came back to him in full detail. Yeah, they could stop the _Kelvin_ 's destruction. Hell, they could even stop the events of Tarsus IV, save the lives of four-thousand innocent colonists. But then important legislation regarding the colonization process made by the Federation Council in response to Tarsus IV might never happen, and maybe further down the line more than four-thousand people would have to die before the same safety measures were put in place.

The way things were _meant to be_?

Good God, the _Enterprise_ might not have even been built tough enough to go against Klingon warships head-to-head, if it weren't for all the advances that had been made due to the _Kelvin_ disaster, advances in emergency protocol and defense technology that had saved countless Starfleet officers through the years – and if they saved the _Kelvin_ , who knew what would happen? What gave _them_ the damn right?

" _Because_!" McCoy snapped, "We can't, kid! You know the damn rules! We stop that one thing and then what do we do? Run around the whole damn Federation to stop events from happening? What gives us the right to decide what should and shouldn't happen? Who the hell do you think we are?"

A flash of surprise went across the child's face, furious and heartbroken and just as quickly hid itself behind the trembling clumsy mask that he had seen before on another face, perfected with anger and coldness. A quick flash of reproach went through McCoy for the harshness of his tone, because this wasn't Jim, this was a kid, who was lost and hurt and angry.

"If you've come back to stop Nero, then why not my dad? Why not _him_?" Stepping forward, Jimmy Kirk glared up at him flashing between desolation and anger, hands clumsily fisting into McCoy's Starfleet jersey. "He never should have died! He's supposed to be alive, but the Romulans killed him – you could have stopped that! Just him! Don't I-" the boy choked, "-don't I deserve – doesn't mom…!"

Leonard McCoy swallowed as the fierce look on the boy's face melted into an imploring look, bordering on absolute desperation. He tightened his hold on Jimmy's shoulder, urging the boy to not look away, to acknowledge that this decision which hurt him terribly hurt McCoy too. "Of course you do but- of course we wanted to but- but it _doesn't_ work like that,son… _I'm sorry_."

The boy sagged almost immediately. Wrapping his arms around Jimmy, the doctor gave the boy a fierce hug and felt more than heard the boy screaming his frustrations against his ribs, bony body stiff against his larger frame. There was a choked sob and then the boy's face was buried in his side, trying to hide as he hiccupped and gasped for air. Vaguely, Leonard McCoy wondered why kids always insisted on rubbing snot and tears all over his shirt; he didn't let go though, and just kept squeezing. The peace lasted for a short few minutes and then Jimmy was struggling against him.

He shushed the boy gruffly and held tight, almost smothering him against his uniform. Brushing the hair from Jimmy's forehead, he laid a heavy palm over the kid's skull. "Shhh… It's okay, kid, you're good, Spock's good-"

"And my mom…?" Jimmy croaked against his chest.

He paused, his lips pursed.

"She's crazier than ever." There was a choked laugh against him, and the doctor peered down at the crown of dark blonde hair, relieved that it had been the right thing to say. "She's waiting for you at home, you know."

Abruptly, Jimmy sagged against him, hangs digging into his flesh almost painfully as his knees just seemed to give out as he gasped and choked for air, his sobs turning ragged. McCoy swallowed, unable to remain unmoved in the face of such anguish. It felt strangely natural to hoist the kid up into a bear hug but almost immediately he felt Jimmy stiffen and begin to squirm. Worry gave him the strength to carry Jimmy to the bed and settle him down. The boy curled instinctually into a tight ball, clutching at the blankets and hiding. McCoy reached out and stroked the kid's hair like he would for Joanna when she was ill and wondered at the sight of someone he knew so well, so young and so raw, yet still attempting to push people away.

"Jimmy," he said softly, hand hovering over the hem of the boy's tunic, "I'm going to lift up your shirt, and have a look at you, okay?"

The boy twisted away from and burrowed further into the blankets, shoulders shaking in dry silent sobs. McCoy slowly drew up the tunic, revealing pronounced rib bones and reddish dark bruises deepening at places. The sight made him wince. Despite Jim's insistence that Jimmy wasn't him, in many ways Jimmy was exactly the same.

* * *

_Planet-side: Earth, Starfleet Academy, year 2246_

Commander Christopher Pike stalked through Starfleet Academy towards the shuttle hangar, a PADD in his hand and a deep frown stretched across his face. He'd received the orders this morning, and like a domino effect, all his classes were rescheduled to another teacher, that survival training exercise he'd been planning to Australia was cancelled – just thinking about the planning gone to waste pissed him off – and no one would tell him anything except that these were official orders. Pike hoped so because if this was somehow an elaborate joke, someone was going to get an earful.

He saw her as soon as he entered, surrounded by a hive of activity as yeomen, petty officers and engineers rallied for her attention, commodore's pin at her collar and her hair pinned high on top of her head. Striding towards her, he glared at the dock technician who cast him a curious glance and didn't stop until he was directly next to her.

"This had better not be a joke."

Winona Kirk didn't turn from her perusal of the PADD that a nervous yeoman held out to her, his eyes flicking to Pike and then back before arriving upon the PADD and staying there, obviously deciding that whatever was going on between the two senior officers, he did not want to get involved.

"Chris, how lovely to see you again –" Winona said distractedly, tapping at something on the PADD screen, "There's an error with item no. 25, I asked for 500 units, not 50 – get it fixed."

There was a hurried "Yes, sir" before the yeoman was gone, hurrying away towards the Starfleet Requisitions Office. A young engineer took his place with a glance of curiosity at Pike, bearing a PADD which she held out to Winona for inspection.

"Winona, what the hell is going on?" He asked tersely in a low voice, not wanting to attract attention. "These orders are ridiculous. I did not ask for this."

Winona rolled her eyes and taking the stylus from the young woman, signed off on the request and spinning on her heel, headed swiftly for the other end of the hangar deck. "You wanted to get involved, Chris, well here's your chance – you're officially involved."

"That's not what I meant," Pike followed the woman with an exasperated expression.

When he had caught Winona Kirk yesterday at the Academy's main café he had hinted not so subtly that he would be open to information about their two guests' whereabouts and fate. Winona had artfully dodged his questions with innuendo and teasing, and when he had pressed her, she had told him that if he really wanted more information, then he should wait for her call. She didn't call but he had woken up to find himself under orders to report to Commodore Kirk for immediate mission's dispatch. To say that it was brief and uninformative was an understatement.

"Chris, I doubt even you know what you meant," Winona said with an unladylike snort, "but you wanted to know. This is the only way that was going to happen. I'm shipping out in an hour, taking the _Douglas_ , the _Saltash_ and the _Narvik_ this time, and heading out to the Beta Quadrant."

"And you think I'm just going with you?" Incredulous didn't begin to describe Pike's feelings right that moment.

Winona flashed a grin back at him, "Come on, we need to do one last check-up."

Grabbing him by the arm, she herded him towards the medical facilities attached to the shuttle hangar. There was a doctor waiting for her, who immediately called for assistance from a nurse.

"Take off your uniform, Commander."

Pike gave a huff of annoyance but did what the doctor requested. A hypospray was decompressed against the side of his neck with a hiss and a pinch of pain before he even realized what was happening. The commander grimaced and rubbed at his neck – damn he hated those things.

Seated on a biobed with her jacket undone awaiting her own shots, Winona Kirk gave him a bemused grin. "You haven't changed your mind about wanting to know the truth, have you?"

"No," Pike grudgingly admitted as another hypo was emptied into his upper arm without any warning. He'd been dragged into this mess by helping Jim and McCoy escape. He was involved already, from the moment he'd picked those men up from Riverside and thrown their ass into detention. Besides, arguing with Winona Kirk was the kind of stupid that even Pike didn't have.

"Good," she gave him a small nod of approval before flashing him a wicked grin followed by a wince as the last of her shots were administered, "It wouldn't do you any good – once I get you, I keep you."

Winona re-did her jacket and hopped off the biobed before leaving the medical facility at the same pace she entered, gesturing for him to come along. Pike followed with a nod of thanks at the medics. According to the public records, there were six ships due to ship out today and several departments were in full frenzy trying to ready the vessels for departure. Pike wondered what the rush was and tensed as a stray thought came to him – the attack on Tau Ceti was only two days before, and the assailant had been an unidentified vessel, perhaps even the same unidentified vessel that Jim had spoken of.

"What exactly is this mission?"

For the first time since he had arrived, she turned and faced him to speak. "Full debriefing in an hour, all senior officers to meet in Briefing Room 3 aboard the _Douglas_ – congratulations, Commander," Winona's crisp formal tone of voice clashed with her sly wink, "You're to assume command of the _USS Saltash_ for the duration of this mission. See you on the bridge, now if you'll excuse me…"

Spinning on her heel, the woman stalked away and almost immediately, was hailed by a passing crewman bearing a PADD along with two petty officers from the Science department, clamoring for her signature and attention regarding one issue or another. Christopher Pike took a deep brief breath and wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into _now_ , before going to the nearest computer terminal and looking up his ship.

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

The corridors of the _Enterprise_ were dark, lit with emergency lights in the floors and running along the side of the walls. McCoy kept his arm steady around Jimmy's narrow shoulders and herded the boy through the corridors. Chapel gave them a surprised look when they slipped quietly into Sickbay but wisely decided not to speak, especially when the kid all but ran over to the ward where they were keeping young Spock.

"Doctor," Chapel greeted sotto voce, sliding up next to him.

"Nurse," he replied in the same low-tone.

"Is he going to be okay?" She asked, frowning at the boys.

McCoy folded his arms and exhaled with satisfaction at the sight of Jimmy, standing by young Spock's bedside and reaching out to gently touch the Vulcan on the arm, a wary expression on his face. "He'll be just fine, as fine as anyone can be under the circumstances."

He doubted somehow that Jimmy knew any other way to be except to keep walking and smiling. It was something about Jim that he had long admired, and somewhat pitied. McCoy hated to admit this but watching the kid interact with his unconscious friend was almost soothing, compared to the chaos of the last few days. A young Spock and a young Jim together in these surroundings, the familiar trappings of Sickbay, was almost… well, to tell the truth he had no idea what this was, other than _strange_.

"Give him another ten minutes." McCoy said, uncomfortably watching as Jimmy started rearranging young Spock's floppy fringe, his Vulcan hair-cut having grown out in the months they had been aboard the ship. It was strangely intimate, and – he took a sharp breath – a little too surreal for his taste.

The ship's intercom chose at that moment to whistle loudly, signaling that the bridge was calling – from the captain's chair no less. "Bridge to Sickbay, come in."

McCoy shared a look with Chapel at the terseness of Uhura's voice. "McCoy here, what is it Lieutenant?"

'Sir we've just picked up the _Hendrik Lorentz_ on long-range scanners. They're entering the nebula expanse and will be docking in fifteen minutes – they've requested that Sickbay be prepared to receive them.'

McCoy frowned at that and already his mind careened ahead, to what possibly could have happened when those crazy fools had run off to play cowboys. Dammit, he mentally swore – couldn't Jim have given him more warning than fifteen minutes? That was just enough time to get a team together and head down to the hangar. "Do you have any details, Lieutenant? Anything that could give us an idea of what we should expect?"

'No, I'm sorry, doctor – there was too much interference, we were only able to get a brief burst before losing the transmission.'

McCoy nodded though the woman couldn't see him and mentally braced himself to clean up after whatever stunt Jim had pulled now. "Okay, thanks for the heads-up, Lieutenant. McCoy out."

Turning to face Chapel, he met the woman's terse look with a weary nod, "I want you to prep for surgery, ICU, everything you hear? Get M'Benga back in here, and do what you have to do if the patients are human or Vulcan – get me Essex and Nar… get out a gurney."

He didn't bother to explain the rest. There was work to do.

* * *

_Orbit above Benzar – USS Bendigo, year 2246_

"Return to Starbase 10? We just got here!"

Captain Robert April jumped up from his chair and stalked around the bridge till he was by the Communication board, a deep frown on his face. His primary communications officer, Lieutenant-Commander Diamond, didn't answer, his eyes riveted upon the screen as he decrypted their latest dispatch from Command, coming in hot and fast.

"Sir I've checked and double checked – the first part of the message is clear: we are ordered to return to the Command Chief of Sector 6, pending further orders." Diamond said tersely, not looking up from the screen as he continued to read through the details.

"Well did they give a reason?" At the shake of the head, he turned to look over the other communication officers, "can _anyone_ tell me what the hell is going on?"

Being a captain well into middle-age and overdue for a desk appointment, April took a deep breath and squared his shoulders; he'd gone through this type of thing before. It wasn't often that Starfleet Command gave orders that were completely insane, but there was always a damn good reason – they didn't travel an entire two days to Benzar just to turn around and head back to Starbase 10!

"I'm receiving a Starfleet bulletin notice, Captain." Marquardt reported from the secondary station into the quiet of the bridge, a terse frown upon her narrow face. No one breathed.

"New information, Lieutenant?"

The young Algerian gave her console a perplexed look, and began to dial through frequencies. "Yes sir. All nonessential travel's been suspended, and ships are being recalled to Starbases all over."

Diamond spun around from primary communications and nodded, hand covering his ear piece. "I can confirmed the lieutenant's report; the _USS Spiegelman_ , _USS Niger_ , _USS Capella_ and the _USS Deneva_ are all returning to report in at their designated Sector Command. They're building up the fleet, sir."

The news cast a chill through the bridge.

For months there had been rumors about Romulan vessels disregarding the Neutral Zone and crossing freely into Federation space. Then there had been sightings and random attacks by an unknown vessel which had hit Starfleet Altair shipyards as well as the one in the Vulcan system. Intelligence and Tactical both leaned towards the Romulans; sneaking hits on ship yards and civilian vessels didn't seem to be a Klingon thing do. Then two days ago, a brutal and senseless attack had occurred in the orbit over Tau Ceti, believed to be the work of the same unknown vessel.

"Is there going to be war?"

Robert April spun around, surprised by the new voice. Sarah gave him a sharp look, her lips a thin line which either meant she was angry or she was afraid. He had been so caught up with what was happening he had missed her entrance onto the bridge. He wondered how she'd known something was happening and when she had left Sickbay, before remembering that she was the Chief Medical Officer, and as Second Officer she would have been informed.

"We hope not." But it looks like it, he thought with another frown. "Helm, set a course for Starbase 10, all deliberate speed."

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

"How's Spock?"

Taking a deep breath in the immediate aftermath of the usual Sickbay chaos, Leonard McCoy ignored the question. He gave the young ensign he'd been treating for minor disruptor burns a comforting smile then left her to the care of the one of the nurses.

"You're a menace, you know that," He mumbled as he sidestepped the young captain and went on to the next patient, a Lieutenant Tamura. "So you've finally decided that your magical powers of pacing would be of greater use here annoying me then in front of the operating room doors."

Jim gave him a dirty look, "How's Spock?"

He didn't know if he was relieved that Jim had come back from this impromptu "retrieval operation" with no major contusions, in possession all his fingers and toes, or if he was annoyed that the man was making a nuisance of himself due to the lack of pain. "Which one? If we're talking about the younger one, he's going to be in an induced coma for the next week, then bed-rest and therapy but nothing you need to worry about – and as for you, the _other_ you has handholding duty."

McCoy ignored Jim's confused mutter on " _what the hell is handholding duty_ " and went to a nearby cabinet for some new hypospray capsules. "On the other hand if you're wondering about our Spock, the one who gives me headaches, he'll be out of surgery in two hours – and no Jim, I should not be operating on him. I was just in an operation and my concentration is shot; M'Benga trained at the VSA so you can't do better than him and in answer to your next question: yes Jim, you may have visitor rights, as long as you keep it to five minutes."

Jim closed his open mouth with a click, shooting the older man a look of annoyance. "Okay, then I'll just go back to my quarters and-"

"The hell you are." Grabbing the man by the arm, McCoy dragged Jim to Ward 2 which he'd set aside for the teens, wanting a little privacy. He didn't believe for a second that Jim would actually return to his quarters and sleep – high on adrenalin and mission-focused, Jim would keep going until he burnt himself out. "Come on then, you need to get yourself looked over."

"Bones, I don't have the time-"

Shoving Jim back onto a biobed in the corner, he ignored the man's protests and picked up his medical tricorder and set it for Jim's own personal baseline settings; the captain's health was one of the CMO's priorities, and McCoy took that seriously. "You can make time, Jim; the debriefing can wait; we're not in any immediate danger; Spock's not out for another two hours, and the rest of the away team are being taken care of," he held up a hand when Jim opened his mouth to complain, "– and yes, they'll be good enough for discharge in two hours."

"And Spock? When will he be cleared?" Jim asked, shoving his hand out of the way when McCoy tried to hold the sensor closer for more detailed readings.

"He'll be back to harassing you within a week or so." He said gruffly, before switching to a regenerator and peeling off the temporary bandage that O'Connell had applied to a long thin cut on the man's forehead. He tried to tilt Jim's head to the left but was met with a flinty glare instead.

McCoy met the look and sighed quietly, his tone solemn despite the mocking words. "Jim, if Spock wasn't fine, I'd kill myself within a week of dealing with your brand of crazy. It looked worse than it really is - and probably fatal in the long run without medical attention. But with an infusion and Starfleet TLC, he's going to be right as rain. Now shut up and hold still while I take care of this."

Jim's eyes searched his before the young captain took a deep breath and relaxed. McCoy squeezed Jim's shoulder and felt a grudging respect overtake his irritation. In times like this, he saw the best part of Jim, who would take ownership of a problem and throw himself at it until he had it conquered. _Now all I've got to do is stop the fool from focusing on where he's failed…_ He firmly turned Jim's head to the left, running the regenerator's soothing rays over the cut. Before his eyes, the skin began to heal and knit.

"I hope you had fun, running off guns-blazing to rescue Spock."

The younger man cast his eyes downward for the briefest second that would almost seem like an inconsequential gesture if McCoy had not known him for five long years. He read the look as amused, pensive, conflicted and maybe a little uncertain, but there was a small pleased smile on Jim's lips hinting that his thoughts had shifted from the usual self-condemning _if-only_ and _could-have_ scenarios.

"Of course," Jim shot him a familiar grin, "I read Spock the riot act."

"Uh-huh," McCoy drawled, pleased to see Jim's mood pick up a little, "and let me guess – he reminded you that logic alone dictates his actions?"

" _Captain, I would not remind you that which you know so well."_ Jim quoted, in a passable Spock-voice, and they shared a quiet chuckle before Jim's eyes abruptly went to something over McCoy's shoulder. A look of surprise flashed across his face quickly before bewilderment settled over his features, as if he'd seen something both fascinating and disconcerting. "Ah… Bones, is he supposed to be doing that?"

For a moment, he was going to ask Jim who he was referring to but then he turned. It was Jimmy, who had somehow gone from practicing hair-arrangement on young Spock to actually being on the biobed itself. The kid had crawled in and squeezed himself into the small space between the Vulcan's body and the bed rails. Only a hand on his elbow stopped McCoy from storming over and telling the kid to get out of that bed right now.

"Let it go, Bones."

"Should've known; I give him a hand, he takes a bed – you Kirks and your goddamn inability to follow rules!" He muttered quietly with a glare in the young captain's direction. Deciding that his talents could be better utilized than trading barbs with Jim, McCoy picked up a hypospray from a nearby cart and quickly loaded it. Jim eyed it suspiciously, "Err Bones? I'm not allergic to anything."

"Bullshit, you were on an alien ship – I am not going to be suffering a week from now because you caught some obscure strain of space flu. Now, hold still." Working from experience, he didn't give Jim a chance to say no before stabbing the man in the thigh. There was a pained yelp and a hiss of displeasure.

_"I wish I didn't know you._ "

"Well I've had the pleasure of knowing two of you so you ain't getting any sympathy from me – _now_ get some rest, Jim, I don't waste my good drugs for nothing." McCoy snapped the privacy curtain close and hurried to the bed that Jimmy Kirk had commandeered, rolling his eyes. Checking through the monitors and confirming that Jimmy wasn't disturbing the young Vulcan, he grudgingly admitted that the kid wasn't doing any harm; besides a hand on Spock's shoulder, Jimmy slept in a pose that kept firmly away from his friend's form, to prevent jostling or pressure being put on any body part.

"Well, I'll be damned…" McCoy muttered under his breath. Spock's vitals were actually better and improving steadily – whether it had something to do with Jimmy's presence, he couldn't say. At this rate, he estimated the young Vulcan would be awake in just four or five days. Satisfied for the moment, he wandered back to his waiting patients in Ward 3.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole a few lines from TOS novels – science stuff and Starfleet procedure stuff mostly. No infringement meant I swear – just for realism (snort, which is rich considering you know, I'm writing fiction about fiction). Books ransacked include: Prime Directive, Vulcan's Forge, The Wrath of Khan novelization, The Pandora Principle. I also rewatched STXI and then read some online transcripts.  
> ALSO - super important - 'Mister' is just an old-fashioned way of referring to any crewmember regardless of gender, which appears to be used by older captains.

_En route to Starbase 10: USS Bendigo, year 2246_

"Captain on the bridge."

Robert April waved away the formality and dropped easily into the central chair. "Our ETA, helmsman?"

Lieutenant Korben spun from her station with that strange sharpness typical in all her movements, "Five minutes, sir."

"Very good." He turned to the Communications board, "Have you been able to reach the station, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Marquardt replied tersely, "I haven't been able to raise them since our initial response to the new dispatch."

April frowned. It could be nothing, just interference from one of the ion-storms that occasionally whipped up a frenzy in this area of space _but_ … It was better to be safe than sorry. And if there was an ion-storm, why hadn't the dispatch warned them?

"Keep trying," He said and then as a precaution added, "and call Sickbay, tell them to strap things down – you know how the weather gets out here."

The young woman nodded. He got up and went to the helm. "Korben, Harper," the captain said quietly, "as soon as we drop out of warp, I want shields up and our phasers ready."

"Expecting trouble, sir?" Harper asked anxiously.

"Precautionary only, Mister Harper. Be prepared."

"Aye sir," they murmured together in near perfect unison and turned back to their stations, fingers dancing across their consoles as they began setting up automatic procedures that could be enacted at the press of a button.

He wandered back over to the Communications board, "Mister Marquardt, anything yet?"

"No, Captain, still no reply from Starbase 10…" the lieutenant trailed off, a quizzical frown coming to her face. "Actually sir, there's something strange… I don't seem to be picking up transmissions of any kind in the area."

He looked to the junior officer at the secondary station who nodded tersely in support. Something inside of Robert April clenched. This close to the Neutral Zone, a station with a steady population of four hundred currently hosting at least four Starfleet vessels and not a single damn transmission wasn't just unusual, it was downright terrifying.

"Mister Korben, ETA?"

"Dropping out of warp in thirty seconds, sir," came her crisp reply.

The entire bridge went silent and while there was an illusion of busyness, of people checking their readouts and consoles, focusing on their individual tasks, he knew that everyone was really waiting. Finally, Korben accessed the shipwide intercom, "All hands, prepare for exit from warp in five… four… three… two… one…"

The almost painful psychedelic swirls of otherspace disappeared as the ship jerked into existence in realspace and – Robert April sucked in a shocked breath, pulling back sharply his eyes widening at the sight of the alien vessel that loomed over them.

"What the-! Korben! Harper! Full reverse, dammit!" He barked, "Get us out of here!"

The bridge exploded into activity, the lights dimmed and emergency lights splashed down the walls as the ship lurched into Red Alert status, the shields springing up to protect them. The inertial dampeners protested the rough treatment, slapping him with 4 Gs as the ship backed up away from the alien vessel. He fell into the safety rails with a grunt and heard the agonized cries of his bridge crew as they were all pressed down before the dampeners kicked in and environmental gravity norms reasserted themselves.

"SIR WE'RE BEING FIRED UPON!"

* * *

From out of nowhere, a shock wave slammed Doctor Sarah April to the deck. A moment later, the noise of the explosion struck. As she scrambled up, metal shrieked and a great wind whipped past her. She recognized it immediately – there was a breach in the hull and it was sucking the air from this level. An eerie silence descended on her as she staggered to the computer terminal to initiate emergency procedures but the computer was already ahead of her. Abruptly, the air fell still and the vents hissed, pouring atmosphere into the partially depressurized area.

Sound returned: she could hear screams, shrieks of pain and the ship's intercom reporting extensive damage all over the ship. No one from the bridge checked in with them but that was the least of her concerns as calls for help came pouring in from Engineering and the lower decks. Grabbing her emergency triage kit, the doctor ran.

* * *

Captain Robert April scrambled for the arm of the central chair, his head throbbing from being dashed against the floor. "Mr. Harper, divert everything to the phasers! Fire! FIRE!"

"Too late –" the lieutenant called out, barely managing to stay in his seat as the ship jolted violently again, sending April crashing back onto the floor with a cry.

In the viewscreen, photon torpedoes streaked toward them swift and inevitable, pulsing a beautiful deadly green. The blasts of raw energy plowed through the ship, searing and melting bulkheads, computers, blowing out screens, crashing whole systems. A fire broke out on the upper deck of the bridge. The choking odor of cooked plastic and charred metal clouded the air. Through the chaos of noise and screams, April caught sight of Korben lying flat on her back with half of her pretty face singed and bloodied. She choked for air and stared up at him, her bright alien green eyes wide with disbelief and pain.

"Sir, shields are thirty percent! We're on batteries, main power is gone – we can't take another hit–!"

Shields? It didn't feel like their shields were even up!

"EVASIVE PATTERN DELTA FIVE!" He heard his own voice shout, as if from under water. Swallowing down his fear and nausea, the captain staggered into the central chair and slammed his hand down on the intercom button. "Engineering! Kostanza, report!"

The screams and shouts in Engineering were not any better. "Hull breach in Sections 5 and 7! Warp drive offline! Containing coolant leak–!" Chief Engineer Kostanza coughed violently, his voice croaking through the respirator. "Power back on in a few minutes, sir!"

"We haven't got a few minutes!" He yelled, "Harper, can you give me phasers?"

The young man gave him a curt nod, his face streaked with sweat and blood. "Yes sir, but it's not having any effect."

"Who the hell are they?" Someone behind him asked in a trembling voice.

That's what he wanted to know, April thought, face hardening. Another blow shuddered through the ship.

"Captain," Marquardt said, her calm place out of place in the cacophony, "the ship, it's signaling..." she hesitated. "He wishes to discuss ... terms of our surrender."

Robert April looked at Harper, who met his gaze defiantly; he glanced at Marquardt, she swallowed almost convulsively but managed to give him a steady look, her face impassive and stiff.

"On screen," he said hoarsely.

"Captain –!" Harper cried.

He silenced the young man with a sharp wave of his hand and nodded to the communications officer. "Do it, Lieutenant Marquardt," he said with a strange sense of calm, "while we still have time."

The viewscreen image flickered from darkness to a new image. April narrowed his eyes, not sure what he was looking at. Quickly the shadows shifted and took the form of a face – a Romulan face.

"Hello," the Romulan said, voice echoing across the suddenly too-quiet bridge.

Slowly, he stood, eyes never leaving the viewscreen. "I'm Captain Robert April. Whom am I addressing?"

"My name is unimportant." The Romulan growled. "You will do as I say or you will be destroyed. Is that understood?"

No one spoke.

"Good." The Romulan breathed deeply, lips curling in the mimicry of a smile. "You will take this message, and spread it among the Federation. I want everyone to know that I will continue to destroy every single base and ship I come across, until I find the _USS Enterprise_. I will negotiate a ceasefire with Captain Kirk, and only Kirk."

April frowned. "I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken. There is no _USS Enterprise_ and currently the only-"

The viewscreen went black, the transmission cut.

"They're launching again!"

The captain flew back and landed hard on the floor with thump as the ship rocked violently, gravity askew as environmental systems started going haywire again. He grabbed onto the bottom of his chair and held on for dear life. Around him, consoles burst with sparks and crew screamed, bodies and parts flying as pipes blew, shrapnel went flying and smoke clogged the air. A body slammed into him, squeezing the air from his lungs and he felt the crack in his ribs.

"SHIELDS AT ELEVEN PERCENT… ten… nine… Captain!" Harper shouted, barely remaining in his seat with his arms braced over the console, fingers clinging onto the edges as he practically hugged his station.

When the explosion came, it shoved the young man straight back, toppling out of his seat and right onto the floor. Harper was dead before he hit the ground, right in front of his captain's wide eyes. One of the Operations officers staggered down from the upper deck and threw herself into the now-empty chair, taking over and doing what she could with Harper's damaged console.

"Put everything into forward shields! I'm initiating General Order Thirteen!" April yelled raggedly, his voice almost hoarse. He crawled onto his knees and hit the ship-wide intercom button. "All decks, this is the captain speaking: evacuate the ship immediately. I repeat: evacuate immediately..."

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

_ Captain's Log, Stardate 2246.5 _

_Fifth day within the Helaspont Nebula expanse, the Enterprise continues to suffer from power shortage issues due to several of the systems enhancements made before traveling through the Milanot Disturbance. Commander Scott has done a commendable job so far in preventing major systems failure and continues his recommendation of a full stop. With our mission requiring trips into non-Federation space, I am concerned with the ship's ability to handle an emergency in the present state and have announced our situation to all department heads._

_Intel gathering continues. So far, due to the high level of interference while the ship remains within the nebula, the Communications department has been unable to keep track of general subspace transmission. Science is working in conjunction with other areas to combat this. Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Giotto have taken point on interrogating our Romulan prisoner in order to ascertain Nero's movements and the possible ramifications of his actions so far, in conjunction with the valuable information that I brought back from Starfleet Command._

_Doctor McCoy reports First Officer Spock and our guest the younger Spock, are both doing well. First Officer Spock has been cleared for a return to full active duty. He has already been proving himself more than up to the task by taking charge of calibrating our sensors to work within the nebula expanse._

_My counterpart has been placed under the authority of Commander Scott by the recommendation of the CMO, to be put to work as a junior petty officer in the Engineering department…_

Jim signed off on the log and stared at the last sentence. He always did have a thing for engines, and God what wouldn't he have given to be working on a beauty like the _Enterprise_ at age thirteen. Well, he thought wryly, at least one of us has something to keep ourselves occupied. Jim knew that war was often described as hours of boredom broken by moments of stark terror but did it have to be so goddamn boring?

'Sulu, I'm going to Engineering. Take over.'

Other than one of Uhura's officers who looked up from the Communications board, no one else paid him much heed as he left. Alone in the turbolift, Jim Kirk finally gave into the urge to rub his face tiredly, feeling the weariness tear at him. Five _long_ , grueling days full of talk and inaction and Scotty tearing his hair out over the cloaking device's power consumption levels. Until they had an idea of where Nero was, and how to catch up to him without sacrificing shields or weapons, the ship was stuck in the nebulous expanse, the viewports showing nothing but gaseous clouds of bronze and blues.

He supposed that he shouldn't complain. The entire ship was still shaken up from his supposed death, and even now people were smiling at him whenever he walked by in the halls. Besides the fact that he was here among his crew, back on his girl, the other highlight of his day was that Spock was back to being as healthy and annoying as ever. _Damn Vulcan leukocytes_ … a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bones' typical drawl echoed in his head.

At the thought of his Vulcan officer, Jim smirked. When he'd returned to light duties three days ago, the Vulcan had called the members of the away team into a briefing room, lectured them in his usual calm stoic manner regarding what regulations they had broken and how, and then listed the penalties that were attached to these transgressions. For a moment there, Jim had thought that Spock was seriously going to go through with punishing the away team but then, Spock had thanked and dismissed them all with commendations.

He had called Spock soft and had that impressive eyebrow waved at him. Apparently, what they did was highly illogical but it was under the circumstances the only logical option. And then Spock quoted his own words back at him from some chess match six months ago that he would hardly have remembered except for the very odd conversation about Sun Tzu, tactics and his own foolhardy response to a challenge. He'd laughed because – _Spock, are you saying you're actually learning something from little old me?_ Of course the response had been pure Spockian – _Captain, I find that … insulting._

However, that's where the normality ended. They were still friends, they continued to be as efficient as ever while working together, but their little talk on the _Narada_ had changed _something_. The familiar warmth of camaraderie, chess games and banter was now some kind of full-blown _other_ thing complete with awkward pauses, strange looks (from Spock) and avoidance (him, definitely). With Nero hanging over their heads, a ship displaced in time, and alternate versions of themselves running around, they had reached a mutual unspoken consensus to act normally. That didn't mean that Spock had not tried to talk to him or that Jim wasn't receptive to furthering their… _thing_.

' _Captain…'_

' _Spock, do I have tell you again?'_

' _Jim…'_

' _So ah, you're gonna be okay.'_

' _So it seems.'_

' _How are you feeling?'_

' _As to be expected, under the circumstances… Jim I wish to clarify-'_

And _just_ when Spock had been about to saying something hopefully interesting, Bones swooped into Sickbay and being the total charmer/best friend that he was, had booted Jim out of there for daring to talk to _his_ patient without permission. Frustration didn't even begin to describe what Jim had felt as he was ordered out. Then every time he had seen Spock since, if it wasn't a missions briefing, they were in public at the Rec hall eating and dashing off to whatever other duties they had on their to-do list. Even his recreational time was used for the good of the ship; Jim had never spent so many days in a row eating in the Rec or Officers' Lounge to bolster crew morale.

Entering Engineering, Jim was assaulted by noise and activity as toolbox trolleys were dragged in front of him and crew rushed to and fro, climbing ladders and navigating through couplings, conduits and piping. He spotted Scotty easily among the carnage, aided by the unique sound of the man shouting with excitement and consternation in his particular mixture of Standard, English and Scottish, gesticulating like he was conducting an orchestra. A small amused grin crept up on his lips; Scotty's manner of talking had taken getting used to but it was hard not to respect him – the man knew his engines and loved to get dirty.

"Scotty," Jim called out over the noise, clapping the Chief Engineer on the shoulder.

"Captain," Scotty replied with gusto and a sweaty grin, looking like he was on top of the world despite the fact he'd been yelling and red-faced mere seconds ago, "what brings ye down here?"

Now that's a guy who loves his job, Jim thought with amusement. "How's the kid?"

"Good, Captain," Scotty beamed, "Captain, did you always know your way around a plasma coupling? The boy's bloody amazing, about as good as me when my balls hadn't dropped yet. What are you doing wasting yourself in Command?"

_And trust Scotty to be both strange and brilliantly insightful all in one sentence…_

"Every kid has a hobby," Jim looked around the Engine's Room, curious and nervous at the same time. "So where is he?"

"James ye mean – aye, well, we were due to meet and pop over to Rec for some sandwiches…" As if to support Scotty's story, a maintenance crew stepped off the lift and came to report in, including among them Jimmy who gave him a wary look. "James, over here! Ye care to be joining us, Captain?"

Did he have a choice, Jim wondered with a tired smile. The boy gave him a sideways glance. They had been pretty much avoiding one another, except for a short face-to-face meeting to decide what to do with the kid so that Bones didn't kill him for being constantly underfoot in Sickbay. Jim felt strange about leaving Scotty and Bones in charge, but the two had been doing a great job of keeping the boy fed and entertained, better than most guardians Jim had suffered in his life.

' _-That boy was you – heck, he is you.'_

 _No he isn't, Bones_ , Jim thought as he stared at the boy's easy grin when Scotty roughly clapped him on the back, _and that is the strangest thing of all_. He'd read the report: James Tiberius Kirk Redux Edition was officially thirteen years, one month and five days old, and "virgo-intacta" in every way; had never been treated for radiation or immunized for planetfall; was suffering malnutrition, soft tissue damage in the left ankle, understandable mental and emotional trauma, but his right arm had never been broken and his kidneys were still the original pair that God had given him. It was all the little things that set the two of them apart. _However we both seem to get on famously with pointy-eared bastards, Scottish engineers and doctors named McCoy..._

"Lunch, sir?"

"Sure, sounds good."

"Well then," Scotty grinned, "what are we waiting for? I'm starved."

Glancing over at Jimmy, he gave a slight wave. The kid shot him a strange look and hurried to catch up with Scotty. Jim vaguely wondered if this could be considered self-rejection and followed at a slower pace.

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, Deck Five, year 2246_

_It smelt very much like… His eyes widened as he realized what he was doing and hastily thrust the robe away from him. It dropped back to the floor with a whisper._

Spock rose from his meditative position, stepped towards his wall unit in agitation as if he were about to seize the shelves and throw a tantrum before logic and reason reasserted themselves. Shame came swiftly, despite the fact that he was alone and no one had witnessed his outburst. He looked around the empty room before his attention was drawn to the lytherette hanging in its place on the wall. Meditation was out of the question but perhaps distraction would work. Taking the instrument from its placement upon his wall, Spock settled upon one of the two standard-issue seats his position as first officer afforded him and strummed the opening notes to an ancient Vulcan composition.

He made rapid progress through the piece, his attention solely focused upon the notes, the rhythm, the movement of his fingers –

_BLIP!_

Spock's eyes snapped open at the sound of the door chime, his hands frozen mid-note over the lytherette cradled in his lap, his thoughts interrupted. This was unexpected. According to shipboard time, it was well into the late "evening," a fourth of the crew were deep in sleep while another fourth of the crew prepared for bed. Disorientated, and currently uncomfortable with the concept of company, Spock kept silent and waited for the visitor to leave. There was another chime.

Spock tensed as his privacy code was overridden from the outside. It couldn't be Doctor McCoy – the man had a valid override code and would have announced himself, taking deliberate pleasure in being a disruption.

The doors to his quarters parted with a gentle hiss. He stared at his late night visitor.

"Hi…"

The boy's features were fair and – Spock took a deep though outwardly unnoticeable breath.

"Good evening." He said evenly, acknowledging the boy as he would any crewmember though his heart rate increased slightly. The captain's younger self stared at him, his face reflecting a controlled curiosity.

"Hi," the boy repeated, stepping inside awkwardly, his eyes moving erratically around the room. "You don't um… mind do you? It's just, they-" the boy gestured behind him as though someone was there, "-kicked me out of Sickbay and talking to _myself_ is kind of weird so…" The boy's eyes finally focused upon lytherette. "Oh, I'm sorry – I'm disturbing you. I'll just… is that a harp?"

Spock knew that he should turn the youth away but the naked want on the boy's face, the desire for companionship, was all too familiar. "No, it is a lytherette, an ancient Vulcan musical instrument that is often referred to as the Vulcan lyre due its similarities to the lyre of Earth antiquity."

His eyes took in the familiar body-language, the expressions and features. _So like Jim_ , he exhaled. Yet when he looked closer the movements were not quite right; the effortless almost lazy self-possession with which Jim carried himself was missing. The boy's manner was confident but it seemed more deliberate, even defensive.

"Oh… I thought it was a harp."

Spock paused at the sight of that smile, full and bright. _Jim_ , he silently murmured. If he had doubted the identity of the boy before, the familiar warmth of that smile aimed at him was undeniable.

"I expect that it may seem similar to the popular imagery of a harp to those unfamiliar with zither-type instruments. It is far smaller than the modern pedal harp which stands on average one point six four standard meters tall."

Distantly he was aware that he should inform Doctor McCoy or some other medical personnel of the location of his guest. However, as the boy posed other questions to him regarding the differences in sound between a lytherette compared to its Terran cousins and the origins of the use of the word "lyre," before launching into a comparison of the musical development in Earth antiquity versus Vulcan antiquity, he decided to wait. The boy was neither bored nor confused by their discussion, his eyes alight as he absorbed the knowledge. _Like Jim_ , the Vulcan noted, _and perhaps he finds you as fascinating as you find him…_

"How long have you been playing it?"

"Since I was very young." It was no longer standard upon Vulcan to possess an extensive musical education, but his clan was old and there were many traditions to bow to, including the mastery of a classical instrument.

"Wait – so Spock," the boy grinned, "I mean, _my Spock_ , knows how to play already, yeah?"

He raised an eyebrow at the possessive pronoun. It was odd, hearing his name used in conjunction with a third party. He wondered if this was the 'cosmic wrongness' that Jim was referring to when they had spoken briefly regarding the situation of having their counterparts aboard.

"I believe I gave my first public performance three weeks prior to…" Spock paused. He had been about to say _three weeks prior to meeting you_ , but that was inaccurate. He had never met the young Jim Kirk before tonight.

"He never mentioned it," The boy said, his feet shuffling across the floor until he was before Spock. "Isn't music kind of emotional? I thought Vulcans were supposed to be logical, be all non-emotional and stuff."

"That is one view. However, mastery over an instrument teaches discipline – a highly desirable value in Vulcan society – also… its tones can help regulate or guide strong emotions." _And hence the reason for my practice tonight,_ he added silently.

"So it's a kind of meditation?"

"Very insightful… yes, I did not find standard meditations effective this evening." Spock didn't explain the reason why. His gaze went to the boy and stayed there, lingering over the familiar features. Jim's friendship had been invaluable in the two years of their acquaintance, the idea of Jim being an influence in his life at a time when he had been so conflicted, confused …

The boy grinned at him. Something within him loosened at the sight of that delight, focused upon him. Spock wondered briefly if he had done something to give amusement, but noted that the expression was not mocking. He arched an eyebrow, struck with an urge to demand an explanation for the smile before he caught himself. It was erroneous to act so familiar – despite their very similar mental presence the captain and this boy were individuals, different people.

"You're so… _Spock_." The boy's smile became wistful. "I miss him, which is really weird because you know all he used to do was meditate." The boy paused, smile gone. "I _really_ miss him."

Something inside of him trembled at the ardent profession of friendship. Spock looked away.

"Are we… I mean, the other me, _the captain_ , are you friends with him?"

"He is my captain, and my friend."

The simple statement could not adequately describe the complex relationship that had sprung up between them. " _I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together. Of a friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize…_ " his elder counterpart had said, tapping into some long denied thirst inside of him. He hadn't known what it was he so desperately wanted when he was a child, but now he could name it – _friend_.

Spock examined the young Jim Kirk closely, unexpectedly envious of his younger self. He would see Doctor McCoy regarding organizing more regular visitations for the boy – he would have appreciated them when he was younger.

"Would you like me to play for you?"

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, Deck Five, year 2246_

Doctor McCoy strode through the dim corridors of the ship, struggling to maintain his composure. He had organized one of the security officers to keep an eye on the kid and of course, the young man had to go ahead and fall asleep. Honestly, had he expected any better? The ensign was only a few years older than Jimmy Kirk and still suffered from _pimples_ for goodness sake – _this is what you get for enlisting kids_ , he grumbled silently to himself, and don't even get him started on Chekov!

In the last hour, he had swept through all of Jimmy's usual haunts. The computer labs, the observation deck, the swimming pool, engineering deck, as well as the cabins of his usual caretakers including his own. Scotty hadn't seen the boy since shift change, and Chapel had been half-asleep when she answered the door. He had muttered a hasty apology and sent her back to bed, feeling like an idiot for having forgotten she was on a different shift this week. And just when he'd been completely frustrated, out of the blue, Spock called him to pick up the boy!

_I take away one Vulcan and he just goes and finds himself another one!_

The doctor shook his head, because honestly it had to be the ears because it certainly wasn't the company.

Upon entering Spock's warm, sparsely-furnished quarters, McCoy did a double-take of Jimmy Kirk, curled up comfortably on the Vulcan's bed snoozing away without a care in the world. Spock looked up from his lyre, in the middle of tuning. "Doctor McCoy, thank you for being prompt."

"How long has he been here?"

"Five hours and fifteen minutes."

" _Five_ hours?" He gaped. Personally he couldn't imagine Spock having the patience to deal with an unruly teen for less than ten minutes, all that illogic, hormones and lack of brain-to-mouth filter. But then, the man was a total glutton for punishment when it came to Jim, at _any_ age it seemed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the dirty cups and a plate bearing uneaten crusts, the remains of a sandwich. McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Well, aren't we getting cozy," he drawled.

The Vulcan gave one of his characteristic shrugs. "I was not bothered by his presence."

That was practically a declaration! Keeping his amusement to himself, the doctor dropped into the other chair with a weary sigh. "So… what did you guys do? I see you fed him. I hope you do know that he's allergic to-"

"I am well aware of the captain's various allergies, Doctor McCoy."

Leonard McCoy stifled his chuckle. Besides the medical staff, only Spock had memorized all of the weird, wonderful and mundane things that Jim was allergic to, a testimony to the man's dedication to be the best damn Exec in the fleet.

"I understand the child is suffering from malnutrition."

"Got that covered, Spock." It was in fact the least of his worries. "Though there is something you can help with. Back on the _Narada_ , they did one of those Vulcan mind-melds. Now I don't know exactly what they did, or how many times they've melded but the other you is just fifteen and in your records, you weren't listed as a mind-adept until you were at least in your twenties."

The Vulcan frowned. "I shall look into it at the earliest opportunity."

Just then, there was a muffled murmur from the bed. Jimmy sat up in a hurry and gave them both a wide-eyed look of confusion. "He's awake…" the boy rasped, his voice thin from sleep.

What in the blazes are you babbling on about, McCoy wanted to grumble but before he could, Jimmy Kirk was out of the blankets, leaping off the bed and out the doors in a flash, running barefoot through the corridors. He shared a startled look with Spock before they both shot to their feet and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who recognizes who Robert April and Sarah April are within trek-verse. I actually use a lot of canon extras in my story.


	20. Chapter 20

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, Deck 7 Main Sickbay, year 2246_

Spock struggled to consciousness, an unexpected gasp of shock escaping his chapped lips. He was alive, that much was clear. He did not ever expect to return to consciousness and yet he was aware. Panic coursed through him as his surroundings came into focus. It was bright, brighter than anywhere on the _Narada,_ a restricted world within a sealed room. The most potent thing was the smell, odorless, slightly sterile. His disorientation only grew when he felt soft cotton sheets, the distinct lack of expected pain and – _where, who?_ Nausea funneled through his guts as his body struggled to return to a normal metabolism.

Throwing himself forward, he sluggishly fought against the cords and tubes attached to his form, feeling adrenalin pushing back the haze of his healing trance. He did not remember how he came to be here or recognize the mental presences around him and flinched from their unshielded thoughts and emotions. He froze as memories started to fall into place. The Romulans. Nero. Agony. Spock doubled over and gasped for air, hands clutching at his heart and abdomen. The pain and swelling. The touching of their minds. _James!_ Spock bit back a groan.

"Calm down, young man!" Someone said firmly in a deep cultured voice, a large hand gripping his shoulder with an impressive strength. "You're safe here on the _USS Enterprise_!"

 _USS Enterprise_? He recognized the name with a shock. It was the name of the ship that he and James would command together in the future that Nero had come from. _But that is… no it can't be… it's not possible…_

"Spock!"

The palatable joy penetrated his mental barriers, lighting up the room like a beacon and sweeping away his confusion. Spock looked up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "James?" He croaked, voice rough from disuse.

The embrace was rough but he leaned into it, finding a curious comfort in the almost painful exuberance of James' welcome against his hastily shielded mind. The boy's breathing was ragged with emotional release and he too felt overwhelmed; Spock held James even tighter against him, feeling the no longer unfamiliar pleasure coursing through his limbs at the overt physical contact. Questions went through his mind and he felt the urge to demand answers from James – how, when, where were they!

There was a jolt as Spock became aware of the other people in the room who were watching them and that one of them was even Vulcan. Fiercely squashing down his mortification at such a display, Spock pushed James away abruptly. Shame wormed through him; he had been too rough, he could sense it, James' confusion and hurt. It was not as though his father were present but nevertheless, the tension of being around another Vulcan drummed through his head, demanding that he act in accordance to his potential.

"Hello," he said, attempting to draw on reserves of dignity, forcibly putting James out of mind for now. "I am Spock, son of Sarek."

"Great," one of the Humans muttered "another one."

Spock raised an eyebrow and followed the Human's doctor glance to the side, his eyes sharpening upon the face of the Vulcan present. The man stared back at him impassively but Spock felt a gulp of air lodge in his throat, the questions he meant to ask forgotten. That face, the mental presence… he knew without needing confirmation, that the Vulcan was _him_ – a Commander in Starfleet by the stripes he wore.

"I'm sure this is all very _fascinating_ ," the man from before remarked, walking over to his bedside with a tricorder in hand, his manner brusque, "but I have a goddamn job to do, so if we can hold the scientific debate till after the physical?"

"Doctor McCoy," the Vulcan said, "please mind your language; there are children present."

The Human, now identified as Doctor McCoy, harrumphed but did flush slightly in chagrin.

* * *

_Patrolling the Neutral Zone - USS Saltash, year 2246_

"Captain," Lieutenant Commander Krishna said suddenly, glancing up from his communications console, a perplexed look on his face, "we're picking up several distress signals coming from a certain area of space just three light years away – the registration isn't clear due to ion interference, but I've caught the first part and they appear to be Federation…"

Christopher Pike shifted in the captain's chair uncomfortably, still not quiet used to being referred to as _Captain_. Distress signals this close to the Neutral Zone while they were secretly spying on the Romulan fleet amassing just five light years away? He hoped it was just an error, but then there was no way that luck was just that good. He looked to the secondary communications officer for confirmation. The young woman nodded, and after a short moment of conferring through looks alone, Krishna turned and confirmed, "It's signaling Mayday. In Federation standard."

'Mayday?" Pike echoed in astonishment. That was positively ancient.

"Appears to be several small crafts, sir, twenty by five, roundabout size or maybe the larger escape pods," said the science officer, looking grave, "I concur with Krishna, sir. It looks Federation."

Dammit. Had the Romulans decided to jump the gun?

"Get me a lock and –"

Before he had a chance to order for helm to set a course and scan for lifesigns, his personal channel, connecting him directly to Winona on the _Douglas_ and the captain of the _Narvik_ , Karros, whistled loudly enough to startle him.

'Kirk to Pike.'

"Pike here. Commodore, our ship's just picked up a Mayday signal in Federation standard, 3 light years from our position. We'll be intercepting–"

'We're picking up the same thing. All due diligence, Captain – exercise extra-ordinary protocols, transporter beam the survivors, take the unknown vessels in tow.'

"Agreed." He wasn't about to have some preemptive Romulan Trojan horse aboard his ship, even if this captaincy had been a bit of a whirlwind romance and he was a stranger aboard the _Saltash_. He looked around the bridge at the waiting faces. "Full security team. Sidearms. Medical team on standby for decontamination."

Aye-ayes rang out simultaneously.

Pike turned to the helmsman, "Full speed ahead."

* * *

Two officers from Security awaited Pike in the transporter room, flanking the transporter chief and one of the junior doctors, Doctor Thea Ashley, supported by a small battalion of nurses. At his silent nod, the transporter lights flickered and the security officers braced themselves. The shimmer on the pad solidified into several humanoid shapes. One of those shapes turned, gave a cry of relief and promptly collapsed, tumbling down from the transporter pad. The others fell to their knees or were already on the ground, in a huddle.

Doctor Ashley threw herself down beside one of the closest individuals who was most definitely Human, a dark-skinned woman who appeared to be bleeding from the gut, and shouted, "I need a stretcher! This woman needs to get to sickbay!"

The medical team exploded into activity and Pike found himself shoved back. He stared in shock and growing horror. Even through the soot and grim, he could clearly see that the people they'd just rescued were wearing Starfleet midshipmen uniforms.

He slammed his hand on the intercom button. "Pike to bridge, get me Commodore Kirk."

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, Deck 7 Main Sickbay, year 2246_

_God_ , McCoy thought, _would you look at the two of them – two peas in a pod_! Of course he knew that as soon as Jim and Spock had gotten over themselves and settled down to being a command team, they'd grow on each other like fungi in a nice tepid room. It seemed the effects had quadrupled in the absence of suitable parental supervision. He certainly didn't miss the positively cuddly hug the kids had greeted each other with, and neither did Spock. Feeling decidedly smug, he finished administering the last of the hypospray, left M'Benga to finish up and wandered over to where Spock was standing around, looking like he didn't know what he was doing.

"He's downright pleasant compared to you."

Spock gave him a distinctively unimpressed look, his eyes going back to the young Vulcan boy. McCoy glanced over and felt like laughing; Jimmy was skulking around Spock's bed looking like he was casing the Vulcan for some limb to latch onto. At first it'd been a little disturbing, but now it was starting to grow on him; the blackmail potential was pure gold! Still, _the poor kid_ , crushing on a _Vulcan_ was like beating on a wall – but he supposed that Jimmy was at that age when silly puppy love just kind of crept up on kids.

"I'll be keeping him overnight for observation, but you better be looking for spare quarters or someone to take him in, because I doubt he'll want to stick around in sickbay for long and a hyperactive teenager is the last thing I need."

"I shall attend to it, Doctor, but I assure you that should he need to remain here, he shall display exemplary behavior."

"Great," McCoy grumbled under his breath, "just what I need, another one of you nagging me."

The Sickbay door swooshed open unexpectedly and he twisted around to see who the hell had injured themselves now in some inane place. At this time of night, it was usually the Engineering department getting up to their dirty tricks climbing through Jeffries tubes, getting shocked and doing all sorts of silly dangerous things. Instead, it was the captain, looking a little perplexed by all the activity.

"Err Bones…?"

He checked the nearby chronometer and glared at Jim. "What in blazes are you doing awake? I sent you off duty to bed four hours ago!" Jim opened his mouth to protest but McCoy cut him off, "Never mind, now that you're here you might as well hear the good news."

"Good news? Oh, hey Spock."

"Captain."

McCoy didn't miss the way that Spock began an intensive examination of the Sickbay layout or the slight misstep Jim made when his eyes caught the profile of their stiff-backed Vulcan officer. They weren't arguing again were they? _Hope not. Thought they were past all that bullshit after the first six months aboard._

"Bones, what's happening?'

He nodded to the adjacent door of Ward 1 where M'Benga interrogating the young Vulcan. " _That_. The other one's awake."

Jimmy had taken a seat next to the Vulcan teen who was seated on the edge of the bed, legs stuck out for a blood and skin sample to be taken from the ankle. McCoy hid a small smile at the way that the boy was watching his friend, hand unwillingly creeping closer across the sheets but never quite daring to touch the other boy. Young Spock was quite aware of Jimmy's intentions. He kept glancing across to the boy, looking away almost nervously and then back again. McCoy realized abruptly that they were acting shy and trying not to give the game away.

 _Well would ya look at that!_ It was… dear Lord, was this adorable the way that Joanna's little crushes and hastily drawn Valentines were adorable? Or was it worrying because Jimmy was right on the cusp of that headlong plunge into the teen years and these kinds of feelings, intensified by hormones, along with all that need for validation…

If Jimmy was his kid, McCoy would have demanded some space. All those months together, with no one else for company… he wouldn't be terribly surprised if the two of them had developed some co-dependency.

McCoy sighed, his annoyance half-hearted. "So, Jim, what are we gonna do about them?"

* * *

_Helaspont Nebula: USS Enterprise, Language Lab, year 2246_

Many civilians were under the mistaken impression that the work of a senior communications officer was rather like a glorified receptionist. Yes, Uhura took messages, read messages on the behalf of senior staff, issued memos, prepared messages and even made sure information between departments got there. But she was also responsible for compiling compendiums to clarify the issues pertinent to the success of a mission (culture, politics, public opinion in the greater galaxy et cetera) – or in this case, provide useful intelligence on their enemy.

Nyota Uhura leaned over the console in the language lab and looked up startled when a shadow fell over her. It was late, well into the next shift and by shipboard time, it was the middle of the night. Shaken out of her mindless staring, she gave a smile of thanks when Hannity quietly put down the tray of Jestral tea and sandwiches before going to her own console. Uhura turned her attention back to the screen, where she was translating the database Spock's away team had brought back from the _Narada_ and bit back a growl of frustration.

Mostly her issue was technical language, for there were many Romulan words that she just frankly didn't know because they were jargon, and even those she did know, for example something like 'proto-matter', she couldn't put it into a workable context as she didn't have a background in Advanced Chemistry, Astrophysics, or Engineering. Ironically, she did understand _all_ of the insults that their prisoner hurled at her.

On the bright side, the communications array had been successfully altered to be able to have half-capacity even within the nebula, and so she had half of her team listening in on all of the general subspace chatter in the sector. The boost to the ships ability to pick up subspace transmissions did mean that if it came down to hunting the _Narada_ down, they had that as a reliable source of information.

Bringing up the expanded Romulan dictionary kept on file, Uhura scrolled through the words, eyes considering and then discarding one after another. It was tempting to be frustrated by the exercise but she consoled herself by glancing over to where Simms was doing the same thing, scrolling through the dictionary with a haggard look on his face. Picking up the sandwich, she began to eat it distractedly and kept searching.

"Found something," the young Englishman said, his brow furrowing, "looks like the word translates into some sort of ore, _tekasite_. It's tagged as engineering and geosciences."

Going over there, Uhura added the new word into the half-translated paragraph she'd been working on and double-checked the entry. Trilithium, tekasite and proto-matter… she frowned. Okay so the Romulans had been doing some shopping, but what were these materials going to be _used_ for? Sending the information onto her PADD, Uhura left the language lab quietly as to not disturb anyone and headed for Engineering.

* * *

_Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 2246.5.4_

_The younger Spock is awake, having recovered nicely from his injuries. Went to tell Bones he did a good job but instead I ended up listening to him moan about how there's another one now. As if he minds! He loves kids! Spock finds the young Vulcan 'fascinating' – so what else is new. What are we going to do with them? I'd like to explain that one to Ambassador Sarek and don't even begin on my mom…_

_In other news, the young me has a major crush on the young Spock and it's embarrassing the fuck out of me… no – more like it's giving Bones some major blackmail material… ugh…_

"Computer, delete log."

There was a beep as the computer complied. Jim Kirk spun around from his desk, getting to feet, sick and tired of administrative crap for the moment. So much for honesty in the logs; it was fine for Starfleet to promise that an officer's personal logs would be kept confidential until at least fifty years had passed after their death, but he wasn't quite okay with having complete strangers read about his personal life in such detail. Why did he even bother, he thought derisively, they may be stuck here forever in which case, Starfleet would never get to see any of his recent logs anyway.

Standing, Jim straightened his uniform and calmly left his room, though inside he didn't feel calm at all. He was due to meet Spock for a late dinner in the Officer's Rec. Situated right on the edge of the primary disc hull, a few levels below the observation deck, the Rec room had a great view and was usually quiet. It was utilized for private diplomatic dinner parties, and while senior officers had free access, no one used it much except for them and occasionally, Bones' dinners where invites were enforced with promises of a thorough physical – for their own good, of course.

Spock and he had semi-regular evening meals there, playing chess afterwards. Plus, Jim added silently, it was the _perfect_ place for Spock and him to have a _private_ conversation without appearing to be, well… needing private time to hold that conversation. The sight that greeted him in the Officers' Rec was definitely welcome. Spock turned from the view of the nebula expanse with hands clasped behind his back and gave a curt nod.

"Captain," the Vulcan murmured.

"Off-duty, Spock," he chided.

"Jim…" The Vulcan amended warmly, gesturing to their usual table where his selection was already laid out neatly, utensils all in place, glass of chilled water collecting condensation. Secretly he still wondered if Spock carried a scanner he pulled out to measure the distance between his spoon and the rim of the bowl. The Vulcan's meal consisted of torn bread pieces that vaguely resembled over-sized croutons on top of a bowl of soup – _plomeek_ or some variation on that theme from the scent. _Typical._

Hiding his smile, Jim went to collect his own dinner, a simple curry dish that the replicators never messed up. They were alone at last, with their schedules finally matching up that they could continue their little tradition – well Jim liked to think it was _their_ tradition – of hanging out. Should he say something? He was content to keep quiet, watch Spock eat in his methodical manner – plus Vulcans weren't big on talking while they ate, and Jim had to admit he appreciated the companionable silence. Rather than be desolate, the deserted Officers' Rec felt peaceful and almost intimate.

Now was probably the best opportunity he had since escaping the _Narada_ to actually talk about their relationship off the bridge, which was teetering on the edge of friendship into unfamiliar territory.

 _So, Spock, did I hear you clearly back on the Narada – you basically admitted that you think I'm going to be the most important person in your life? I don't know if you're aware of this, but the wily old Vulcan who's supposed to be you from another timeline, well… there's really no nice way to put this: I think he was smooching his timeline's version of me! I know, crazy huh?_ Jim's eyes flicked up to examine his First Officer and wondered about the reaction he would get if he just said that, unedited. Mentally he scoffed – oh he could see that going over real well! Spock had successfully evaded Bones' attempts to get him in to see a counselor regarding Vulcan and his mom, so if the Vulcan wanted to ignore the issue, Jim had a feeling he'd get his way. Plus it was so _not_ smooth.

"So," he began, "I heard from Bones that err, Jimmy visited you. Hope he wasn't a nuisance." It was only after he said it that Jim realized how ridiculous it was, apologizing for another younger version of _himself_. Still, it got the conversational ball rolling.

"I did have the opportunity to speak to your counterpart. He was well-behaved and not at all disruptive." _Unlike you_ , Spock's warm brown eyes seemed to say. Jim hid his grin. "Have you spoken to him?"

He made a face. "Does anyone really want to speak to themselves at that age?" By the eyebrow cocked at him, of course Spock wanted to speak to himself at that age –why, he was positively _fascinated_ by the idea. "You honestly enjoyed your time with that kid?"

"It was an interesting experience."

 _Interesting_? Interesting how? Interesting like the way that the young Vulcan who was meant to be his First Officer at age fifteen had a face that said so much more than the same face at age thirty? Or interesting as in trashy gossip mongering interesting? He wanted to interrogate Spock about what Jimmy had said, but he didn't know how to phrase it without seeming like he was paranoid. And really, it shouldn't matter, Jim told himself sternly, this was _Spock_ and he trusted Spock implicitly.

"Well, the Kirk charm is awesome at any age."

"He is a good-natured and conscientious child." Jim wanted to snort. _Oh boy_ , if only Frank and his mom were hearing this when they were picking him up from the local Sheriff's office for the eighth time. He held his index and middle fingers up.

"Two years, Spock. Let's see if you think the same thing when you see me at fifteen. Your counterpart deserves a medal for putting up with me."

The Vulcan gave him a droll look, his eyes bright was bemusement. "My counterpart holds a serious attachment to him."

That brought him up short. Looking at Spock, Jim wondered if this was supposed to be a hint. Oh he'd noticed Jimmy's reaction, seen the way that those familiar blue eyes had looked at the younger Spock. Whatever affections he might have had for his brother, his mother or his childhood friends had been replaced by loyalty to the young Vulcan. But the younger Vulcan's response back?

"Yeah, they seem to be great friends." Jim said carefully, "Though Bones think that it's probably not a good idea to have them spend too much time together."

Spock frowned. "I would have thought that companionship would be important factor in their recovery."

"Ah yes… I think Bones thinks that Jimmy has a crush on you –"

"That is highly improper and impossible–"

"Not _you_ , Spock, but the _other_ you."

"I am aware of it." Spock said dryly, "Doctor McCoy has been most vocal on the subject."

At the long-suffering look on his First Officer's face, Jim couldn't help but break out into a full-bellied laugh, pushing himself away from the table before he gave into the urge to dig into the curry. Did Bones subject Spock to the whole " _keep your teenage selves under control, dammit, I am not doing sex ed._ " spiel? Or was it only the " _damn little hobgoblin – he'll make that boy cry, I just know it_ " – hmm…

"Doctor McCoy is under the impression that James harbors a crush towards my young self." Spock looked to him for confirmation, his tone as exasperated as Jim had ever heard from his First.

He slowly grinned, relieved at the sight of a teasing warmth in Spock's eyes. "That's right."

"I understand a crush, for Humans, is something like falling in love; however, it occurs only in very young members of the species and is looked upon with great amusement by older members."

Jim wanted to laugh. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Spock. He was also greatly amused by Spock's flawlessly dry delivery of a very Vulcan description for a "crush." "Did Bones give you that impression?"

"No, I was first introduced to the concept of a Human crush through observing Mister Chekov, who had a particular attachment to Dr. Cameron Black when she traveled with us to the Daystrom–"

This time Jim did laugh. He remembered that, but he couldn't believe that Spock had actually noticed.

"I do find it perplexing how James developed affections towards my counterpart. It seems rather impossible, as I cannot imagine my counterpart possesses the character necessary to elicit such feelings." Spock looked to him for an answer, his tone almost wistful. Ah, so this wasn't really a question about why Jimmy liked young Spock; it was about Spock's uncertainty about why _he_ liked the Vulcan. As always Jim was surprised how readily he could read his Vulcan officer and the depth that was there to be explored.

"It's not impossible, Spock, it's a part of human nature." Jim couldn't help his fond smile, "Actually, it's kind of natural, to have feelings for people who you spend a lot of time with, that you depend upon. Bones calls it a flaw of human nature, but don't listen to him."

Spock's brow furrowed as he mulled over the words. Finally he spoke. "Even if falling in love is a flaw of human nature, Jim, it is not one of Vulcan nature."

 _But you're not Vulcan_ , he wanted to protest _._ Jim held his breath, his stomach taking a cold dive. He liked the Vulcan in a way he hadn't liked anyone in a very long time, and whatever this _thing_ was between them, he had hoped… He turned back to his curry and ate a few bites in silence.

"Doctor McCoy has demanded that I speak to my counterpart. He is very insistent that I thoroughly impress upon him to deal with James gently." Jim looked up to catch Spock holding his gaze in a lingering look. As Vulcan as Spock's face was, his eyes gave him away. "The doctor has explained that while a crush is a natural part of Human development, young Humans are very vulnerable in these matters, and very easily hurt."

He tilted his head, his mind mulling over the conversation so far. Abruptly, he realized that Spock doubted his _own_ charisma, that Bones' words were being perceived as a warning; Vulcans fundamentally could _not_ respond to Human affection in a way that was satisfying; that Vulcan temperaments were too cold, too brusque, and would ultimately hurt a Human.

Jim was struck with the urge to reach across the table and take Spock's hand in reassurance. "I'm sure you'll make sure he lets Jimmy down easily."

"On the contrary, I believe Doctor McCoy's concerns are warranted – however, I believe he has misjudged the situation. He should be concerned with my counterpart's attachment to James."

Jim hid his surprise and carefully examined Spock's serene face, realizing that the Vulcan was completely serious. His mind flashed back to the only time he had ever seen their counterparts together, in Sickbay when young Spock had just woken up. There hadn't been any hint then but Spock did have an obvious advantage reading their body language, having been around Vulcans _and_ Humans.

"You seem surprised."

"Aren't you?" Jim blurted out before he could stop himself.

He could see the answer in Spock's eyes. _No, not really, not about this._

The sound of the ship's intercom whistle startled both of them and Jim almost jumped in fright. 'Engineering to Captain Kirk.'

Jim bit back his sigh of frustration and got up to answer the intercom. "Kirk here. What's up, Scotty?"

'Captain, err, we got a wee bit of a problem.'

"A problem?' He immediately tensed as Scotty's idea of a wee problem was the warp engines being offline and no emergency power! "What kind of problem?"

'Captain, I've found something in the data brought back.' Behind him, Spock stood up at the sound of Uhura's worried voice. 'It's the Romulans, Captain; they've developed a way to destroy Vulcan without Red Matter.'

* * *

_Patrolling the Neutral Zone - USS Saltash, year 2246_

Chief Medical Officer Lee was waiting for Pike in his office on the far side of Sickbay. "We've got them stabilized," he began without prompting, sounding almost breathless, "We're looking at standard contusions, fractures, electrical burns. They're not talking much – smoke inhalation mostly, and some are in shock. I've got a technician running standard ID scans but one of men has captain's stripes, sir."

Captain's stripes? A ship then? But where was the debris? "Where is he?"

"And more importantly, can he talk?" A familiar voice queried from behind him.

Christopher Pike turned sharply. Winona gave him a greeting nod and immediately strode over to Doctor Lee, calmly taking possession of the doctor's datapad as if it was her sovereign right. Doctor Lee gave his datapad up willingly.

"The man is in his sixties, suffering from head trauma, grade D, and has electrical burns on the left arm and shoulder, second degree. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, but right now he's unconscious. We haven't been able to get a name out of him. He wasn't coherent," Doctor Lee paused, "I'm afraid he isn't really in a position to answer questions."

"I'd like to see him anyway."

The doctor nodded and led them out.

Pike exchanged glances with Winona. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her when she'd arrived and how the hell did she get aboard without his knowing, but she always knew where the action was. The sickbay was a flurry of activity, shouted orders and medics rushing back and forth between doctors, beds and patients. They passed all of that to one of the corners in Ward 4, where a handsome man with rugged features and graying temples lay. The man's face was ashen with exhaustion, and his left arm and shoulder were bandaged.

One of the techs turned from the nearby wall console, "Doctor, the woman on Bed 5, is a Lieutenant Arnelle Marquardt. She's posted to the _USS Bendigo_!"

The _Bendigo_? The _USS Bendigo_ was recalled to Starbase 10 and was meant to be joining one of the taskforces that HQ had ordered local sector command to put together for Neutral Zone patrols. The trio of ships under Winona's command, the _Douglas_ , _Saltash_ and _Narvik_ , were meant to rendezvous with the _Bendigo_ , _Gibraltar_ and _Havelock_ within three days time. A cold feeling settled over him as his mind went to the obvious conclusion.

Winona obviously thought the same, as she called the bridge to order communications to begin a broadband scan for transmissions and get in contact with all Federation outposts in the vicinity. Pike looked to the man who was wearing captain's stripes. "His name?" He demanded.

"Personnel files loading now, sir… the captain of the _Bendigo_ is… a Robert April, sir."

"Robert April!" Winona spun from the wall intercom and examined the unconscious man with disbelief.

"You know him?"

"Yes – no, I mean – not directly. George served with him as a cadet aboard a training mission. He was one of the TA that was going along with them. Apparently he left an impression, got George interested in command." Winona's voice was clipped and business-like but he heard the wistfulness anyway. She looked to the CMO. "I need to speak to him."

Doctor Lee approached the supine figure and checked the bio-bed readings. "I can wake him up for a few minutes."

"Do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let it be disclaimed - I paraphrased a line from the Wrath of Kahn novelization.  
> For anyone confused about the ages of young Kirk and Spock - they started off 12 and 14 and at some point, they were 12 and 15, but then they're now 13 and 15. So there's a gap of about 2 years?  
> Also Uhura meeting Amanda, Dessica II and the Nero vs Spock fistfight all happened within a week, then the Enterprise stayed within the nebula for over two weeks doing repairs and letting everyone get back on their feet. During that time, Pike and Winona were scouting and eventually found the Bendigo survivors.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Actual slash in this part, but no nudity sorry lol. Basically I alluded to the epic hand-porn scene from 'The Enterprise Incident' between Spock and the Romulan commander - I love that scene so I paid homage to it by letting Kirk and Spock have err... hand-touching. I used fake ST science from DS9 - hey the rules of the universe shouldn't change in a hundred and fifty years right?

_En route to Vulcan: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

The briefing room doors hissed open, letting Bones, Uhura and the science officers out. The sound of his friend's voice, speaking in his idiosyncratic Georgian manner, trying to reassure Uhura and convince her to "get some shut-eye" faded as the door closed with a decisive hiss-click.

"…Once it starts, Captain, there's no going back." Scotty muttered morosely.

Yes, he realized that. Jim looked to his First Officer's bent head. _Regret not having killed Nero when we had the chance, Spock?_ No, Jim thought bitterly, that wouldn't have stopped this – that would have just left the Romulans without a leader and at least they knew Nero's motives. "Spock, debrief Scotty on our backup plan."

"Yes, sir," the Vulcan intoned calmly, not looking up from his PADD. "Mister Scott, I am sending the information directly to your PADD. Please examine the design, our proposed method of deployment and prepare several torpedoes to allow pillion delivery…"

Jim walked around the table and then turned, retracing his steps. In front of him, the holographic simulation was on pause at the final scene, the orange dotted lines forming the 3D representation of Vulcan's primary sun beginning to unravel. Nero had been stockpiling trilithium, proto-matter and tekasite. If there was ever a good time to lose his professionalism, it was now. He didn't know what tekasite was supposed to do, didn't even know _what_ it was but he recognized trilithium as a high-risk substance that was tightly regulated by all Federation worlds.

Theoretically, if even a little bit of pure trilithium was allowed to enter A Eridani 40, all fusion processes would cease. There would be a quantum implosion, the star would collapse under its own mass and generate a shockwave powerful enough to destroy everything within the Vulcan system. Together with the proto-matter, which was inherently unstable…Jim hit the replay button.

The simulation started again from the top. The verdict was the same: trilithium, matched with something as unstable as proto-matter, shot into the heart of Vulcan's primary red giant equaled one hell of a big bang. A phantom pain bisected his chest and suddenly he was feeling almost faint.

Jim looked away, breathing hard. He thought he had worked through all of the after effects of that impromptu mindmeld but obviously not.

"…Captain?"

His head snapped back around to face Spock, who was looking at him with concealed worry. "Captain, we have been steadily picking up anomalous readings from our communications and long-range sensor telemetry since our departure from the nebula."

Jim straightened. "What do you mean?"

"The area of space that covers P'Jem, Vulcan and Andoria is serviced by a central Starfleet-operated station, Echo 1. In the last hour, our communications have picked up a total of 1673 transmissions sent and received – an abnormally high number even for Echo 1 – and at least 275 of these transmissions were encrypted with the Bellerophon cipher. We have also successfully tapped into Starfleet Tactical's subspace channel; they're calling for mobilization towards the Romulan and Klingon Neutral Zone." Spock's eyes darkened. "It appears that while our communications were inoperable within the nebula, the situation between the Romulan Empire and the Federation has worsened."

His stomach clenched. "Scotty, how's the cloak coming along?"

"Captain, if I may make a suggestion; Mister Scott and I have been discussing an alternate possibility, to change the ship's ID to that of a Federation vessel of this time period not currently present in the sector. As we carry all historical ship routes and manifests for the entire–"

"We won't have the real ship showing up to spoil the fun, and with things as they are, no one will question one more ship ordered back from wherever to watch the Romulans." He finished for his XO. "Good thinking, Spock, of course it'll only work for long-range sensors."

Spock tilted his head in his usual regal manner, and a flutter went through Jim, cutting through the building nausea and nerves. "I'm sure Lieutenant Sulu will be able to adequately handle the situation."

He broke out into a small smile, the first one in hours.

* * *

_Patrolling the Neutral Zone - USS Saltash, year 2246_

Christopher Pike held his breath as the man on the medical bed in the _Saltash's_ sickbay ward stirred. Winona stood rigidly opposite him, the expression on her face a testament to her self-restraint. He could tell she desperately wanted to grab their involuntary passenger by the throat and demand that he answer their questions or else.

"The ship…" the man murmured, barely a whisper. "General Order Thirteen… General Order…the ship… Korben…Harper… Sarah, oh _Sarah_ …" With great effort, the man opened watery brown eyes and looked around the room blindly, his gaze unfocused.

"Captain April," Pike said, keeping his voice even and clear, "you are aboard the _USS Saltash._ I'm the captain, Christopher Pike. Where is your ship, Captain?"

The man's eyelids drooped and on the other side of the bed, Winona's expression flickered.

"Robert April," the injured man said hoarsely, "my name is Robert April."

"Can you tell us what happened, Captain?"

The man closed his eyes before opening them again, a look of confusion creasing the lines on his face. "Where am I? What ship?"

"The _USS Saltash_."

"The _USS Saltash_ ," the man repeated weakly. Pike noticed then that the older man had a soft English accent, weak but there. Looking around, April's gaze seemed to focus slightly. "Oh my God," he gasped, "the Romulans, one ship… one giant ship…"

Pike felt his stomach plummet to his feet only to bounce back up to lodge in his throat. He didn't need to look to know that Winona had arrived at the same conclusion as him. It was the Romulan ship from all those years ago, the same ship that had attacked the _Kelvin_. The same ship that Jim and his people were out there hunting. Pike swallowed hard at the confirmation of what he already knew. But seriously, the _future_ – _time travel_ – actual temporal displacement!

Captain April's eyes drifted to Winona's face, widening in recognition. "Kirk," the man croaked, frantically scrambling to lever himself up from the bed, "Kirk – he wanted – the Romulan wanted Kirk! _Captain_ Kirk! He won't stop, not until – he _won't_ stop – he'll attack every ship, every outpost – _oh_ _God_!"

Winona leaped back when the man tried to grab her arm. Alarmed, nurses and a security officer wrestled April back onto the bed. "Captain Robert April!" She bellowed, "Calm down!"

Perhaps it was her tone of voice, or perhaps it was his name and rank being called out, but the man stilled upon the bed. Slowly the nurses let him go. "He wants the _Enterprise_ , I told him…" April said weakly, his voice scratchy, "I told him, there is no _USS_ _Enterprise_. There is no such ship, no _USS Enterprise._ "

" _Dammit_ ," Pike murmured under his breath as pieces of the puzzle started to make sense. Jim's genetic scan results, the things that he had said, the references he had made – there _was_ a pattern and it seemed like Pike had just found the key. Captain April drew a harsh breath, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something else but then his body sagged back on the bed and his eyes closed.

Instantly Doctor Lee was at his patient's side, administering a hypospray. "I'm afraid if you want to question him more, you're going to have to wait."

Pike shook his head. He had told them everything they needed to know. The wall intercom nearest to him whistled nosily, startling him. 'Bridge to Commodore Kirk, come in.'

Winona stepped over to the intercom, "Kirk here – yes, Mr. Krishna?"

'No transmissions within the entire sector and for a stretch of fifteen light years along the Neutral Zone, Commodore.' There was an uncomfortable pause, 'We've received no replies to our subspace hails on either the usual frequency range or the emergency channels.'

"Not even Tango Outpost II?" Pike asked. They had just stopped there not even a day ago! "What about Starbase 10?"

'Nothing, sir – no subspace chatter, not even non-audio, just…nothing.'

A weight settled in Pike's stomach. "Helm, set a course for Tango Outpost III – maximum warp. Krishna, I want you to keep trying to get in contact with the surrounding outposts, and–" his voice faltered momentarily before he pushed on, "Transmit our ship's final logs to HQ. It may not happen, but I want you to prepare to shut down all outgoing communications upon my command.'

There was a short silence and then, a curt 'Aye, sir. Bridge out.'

Finally, he looked at Winona. "Your orders, Commodore?"

* * *

_En route to Vulcan: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

Spock padded quietly into the nondescript cabin, uncertain if James was already asleep. He studied the lump on the top bunk for signs of movement and suppressed his disappointment when there was none – James was already asleep. After the last few days of "running amuck" Doctor McCoy had ordered him to Sickbay for petty officer's duties. Spock did enjoy exploring this fascinating vessel with James, but he did not mind the work. It was somewhat interesting – restocking hypospray capsules, organizing and refilling emergency kits – and gave him the opportunity to use the shipboard computers, which proved to be engrossing. He had been barred from many areas, including the historical databases, but he was allowed to access the ships' schematics which sufficiently satisfied his curiosity. Adjusting the lights to fifteen percent, Spock went to the bathroom and prepared for bed as quietly as possible so as to not disturb his friend.

He had just crawled into the lower bunk when there was a rustling of sheets on the mattress above him and a small voice whispered, "Spock…?"

He froze, "It was not my intention to wake you."

"No," James sighed sleepily, "I was waiting for you. Guess I fell asleep… missed you at dinner."

He felt a brief flush of affection at the knowledge that the other boy had anticipated his company.

"Heard you were doing stuff in Sickbay. What did Doctor McCoy make you do? Was it fun?"

"My function was to replenish emergency medical kits with new supplies at Doctor McCoy's instruction." He recounted, settling further into his blankets, "The doctor has a very peculiar manner of speaking – he uses many colorful idioms, expressions, and euphemisms. It was… interesting."

Overhead, the boy laughed a little. There was a short silence, and then the mattress above him swayed in time with James' movements. Spock blinked in the dimness when a shadow appeared. It was James, peering at him from over the edge of his bed. "Did you meet the other Spock? He's the First Officer of the ship, you know."

"Yes…I saw him briefly."

Everything was just as Nero had said and yet not. This ship was commissioned in 2258, not 2245; Nero had seemed to take a perverse pleasure in taunting them with recitals of history, a history he had intended to prevent through their capture and due to his eidetic memory Spock recalled every word. The captain, James' counterpart, was very young – almost too young. In fact, the crew was predominantly filled with young adults. He could only hypothesize that this ship was from a timeline that had already been affected by Nero's temporal displacement.

"I spoke to him."

Spock breathed in quickly, an almost nauseous sensation coursing through his abdomen. The idea of James speaking to an alternate counterpart of himself, older and more experienced – it both horrified and pleased him that James should have spoken to the commander. "What was the nature of your conversation?"

" _You_ , duh – 'cause, like I said, I kinda missed you and well, he kind of _is_ you." Spock could almost hear James rolling his eyes. It was meant to be a compliment, he knew, but his reactions did not agree. The odd feelings akin to nausea continued to roll around his stomach, usurping his objectivity. He loathed the idea of sharing James' attention with another – especially the commander. But before he could dwell on these thoughts, the other boy spoke again.

"Did you meet the captain?" James asked with a strange tone in his voice.

Spock thought back to the man he had met – apparently James' older self from an alternate timeline – in Doctor McCoy's office before he was released. "Yes," he admitted.

"What did you think about him?"

Spock had found the captain utterly fascinating – it was as though he had gained a further glimpse into the future. The evidence of his future relationship with James was a powerful motivation, far more potent than a Romulan's disjointed historical references. In return, the captain had regarded him with an uncomfortable curiosity but had treated him kindly. "He appears to be a capable commanding officer, and greatly respected…"

Above him, James lay back down and was very quiet.

"He looks like my dad, you know…I always knew that I looked like him, everyone told me so, but I didn't realize…" The other boy's voice was brittle and so quiet that Spock strained to hear him. "He looks so much like in this picture mom keeps on her desk… and you know, Spock, for a moment when he got us from the Romulans, I thought he really _was_ my dad..."

Spock frowned in confusion – was it not a favorable comparison to be said to resemble one's parents?

"In his timeline, he saved Earth from being destroyed by Nero, and became the youngest captain in Starfleet history. I know what Nero said… but you know, before that bastard told me that it was what I was gonna do, I didn't want to go to Starfleet." James paused, sounding uncertain, "I never even _thought_ about going to Starfleet; I _still_ don't really know if I want to go to Starfleet…"

He did not truly know if he wanted to go to Starfleet either, but in at least one universe, two if the Romulan was to be believed, he had made his own independent decision to attend Starfleet. It seemed a viable alternative for him to investigate on that point alone.

"But what if I really am _supposed_ to go to Starfleet? Just like you're _supposed_ to go to Starfleet… what if I don't and then stuff changes, and people die and… _Spock_ …" James' voice trembled.

Spock felt the other boy's anxieties rolling over his skin.

"At first it was just _wow_ , I'm gonna be a captain – but when you were in Sickbay, and I started helping Mister Scotty and everyone had a story about older me, how he'd saved them, what crazy stunt he pulled so someone could be rescued from the Klingons, I thought, is that who I'm expected to be one day? But what if I can't, what if we're too different? And Spock, I don't know, what if I can't…" James' voice wavered then descended into silence.

Spock fisted his covers, fighting against the urge to reach up and touch James' fingers, curled over the side of his bunk. Ever since the incident in Sickbay, he had carefully evaded James' playful attempts to touch him, wanting to put a stop to this sort of behavior before he returned to Vulcan. Each time James had been disappointed but always understanding. " _I know it's not cool with Vulcans_ ," James had smiled. Propriety was only part of the reason that he abstained from physical contact. He had _touched_ James' mind, his invigorating earnestness, and Spock knew that James' kindness upon him was never given in pity or politeness, that the boy did not merely tolerate him. The experience had only intensified Spock's attraction. It was not sexual – could not be as he was still physically immature – but that didn't seem to make it any less consuming. But for it to be a reality, for James to be bound to him...Spock did not know if it would be possible and it seemed foolish to assume so before presenting his request to an elder.

"Spock," the other boy whispered, "he's a hero. And me…I'm a…I'm…I'm nobody."

The mattress shifted as James turned onto his other side, almost huddling against the wall. Spock roll out of his bed before his mind had a chance to disagree. There was no one else and thus it was only logical he be the one to comfort the younger boy – at least that's what he told himself as he crawled alongside James' tense form and wrapped his arms around the boy as he had been held so many times before. There was a sound of surprise then James was turning around in his arms, hugging back almost desperately.

"I am unsurprised that he is so respected if he should possess the same qualities as you. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed in all that you choose to pursue." He whispered into the boy's hair, the cool detachment of his tone at odds with his impassioned words. The thought of Starfleet, James and their life to-be on the _Enterprise_ had given him strength to continue when the situation seemed utterly hopeless.

"You really think so…?" James asked softly, voice tinged with disbelief.

Spock nodded. The other boy's arms tightened around him with an almost inhuman strength. Spock stroked his fingers along a bony shoulder and felt warmth engulf his entire being. They remained that way for a long time until James pulled back and stared at him in the semi-darkness.

"When I go home, and you go back to Vulcan, will you promise to call?"

Something sharp went through him at the thought of separating but that was what would happen if his request failed; James would be returned to his family on Earth, while he would resume his life upon Vulcan. Spock did not know how he could ever return to the time when his studies were his primary focus. He did not know if he could let go.

"I will endeavor to do so," he whispered, and silently vowed to do it as often as possible.

With a sigh, the other boy pressed his forehead against Spock's shoulder. "Stay." James ordered.

Spock stayed.

* * *

Jim accompanied Bones to the officer's rec in silence, brain still rattling from all the noises he'd been subjected to down in Engineering. He ignored the itchy feeling on the back of his neck and pointedly didn't look over. He didn't believe that the doctor needed the company, nor did he believe the laments that he'd been neglecting his old pal. He knew that Bones was watching him. Evaluating his fitness, his energy levels, his handling of stress. _Damn_. Some days it just didn't pay to have your Chief Medical Officer also double as one of your best friends – he could smile at everyone, joke around with Sulu and Chekov, tease Spock until the Vulcan was green in the face and Bones would still know something was wrong, the man just knew him too damn well.

He sat down at one of the tables and didn't bother with preliminaries. "What's on your mind, Bones?"

The doctor propped his chin on his fist while his other hand rested on the handle of his mug. Jim recognized the pose as Bones being contemplative before a major battle engagement, or troubled over a puzzle he'd yet to figure out. "So you're just gonna drop the kids off."

"They've got enough to deal with. P'Jem is ideal – small Starfleet contingent, readily available Human and Vulcan doctors."

"I'm not disputing that." Bones looked at him carefully and shrugged, "But for something which is the right thing, you seem awfully upset about it."

And you're incredibly manipulative, Jim thought. "It's not them. I could have finished him, Bones, back on the _Narada_. I didn't, but I was so close to pulling the trigger." He ran a weary hand through his hair, reliving the scene again in his head. Spock's weight at his side, the pistol in his hand, hot from discharge, the way he'd been shaking from adrenalin. "I know that it would have been the wrong thing but… probably wouldn't have changed anything, in fact," Jim chuckled tonelessly, "might even have made the Romulans _more pissed_ if Nero was dead but–"

"But you can't stop thinking about it," Bones finished.

Jim shrugged and swiftly changed the subject. "How's Uhura?"

"Fine, overworked; Chapel's making sure she gets a long decent sleep – but she'll be up and raring to go in no time. What did Spock say about the whole matter?"

"What does Spock have to do with this?" Jim asked, fighting down the urge to tug at his collar. Right, Bones didn't know. He felt a little guilty about the subterfuge yet it wasn't like anything had happened.

"Hey, he's the one you went back for." Bones gestured expansively, mistaking his guilty pause for annoyance. "He was there, and he saw what happened. You're the one who's always telling me that he's a damn good Exec – you trust his judgment and _he_ doesn't seem to have a problem."

True, Spock thought he'd done the right thing. _But…_

He had thought they would have more time to find a way to bring the _Narada_ down without further risk of high casualties! He was unprepared and just…disappointed; he had underestimated his opponent, a mistake that could cost lives. Jim fought the waves of self-doubt and turned his focus elsewhere. Bones had somehow managed to draw him into a conversation about his mental state – in fact throughout this whole chit-chat the man had never taken his eyes off him. Damn.

"If you want my opinion, don't mope, Jim. You'll get frown lines."

"I'm not–"

The Chief Medical Officer raised one dark eyebrow.

"You know Spock does that better," Jim said dryly. Standing, he headed for the door. Bones sputtered at him in consternation as expected but he didn't let it bother him. So he was a little glum – what the hell did the man expect? Getting into the turbolift and slumping against the nearest wall, he punched in his destination. He was deep in thought when it slowed to pick up another passenger. Straightening, he attempted to look calm and alert, aware that crew morale depended in part upon him. The doors opened.

"Captain," a familiar voice greeted.

Jim grinned broadly, the tension of having to put on a brave face draining out of his shoulders, replaced by the different yet all too familiar and not entirely unwelcome tension that had developed between them in the fortnight since their return from the _Narada_. "Hey, Spock, late night?"

"Yes," Spock said simply as he stepped into the lift, gracefully turning to face the door with his hands clasped easily behind his back. Something inside Jim warmed at the show of almost inhuman elegance. If it wasn't for how wrung out he felt and Spock's slightly wild looking eyes, this could be them bumping into each other on any other evening.

Jim was no stranger to attraction. It wasn't unusual for him to experience it several times over the course of a day. Hell, he spent all day surrounded by gorgeous, confident, brilliant individuals who were outstanding in their fields... it would be stranger if he didn't. But this felt different then the attraction he still felt for Bones or Uhura not to mention Nurse Chapel, Sulu and about a hundred other people he came in contact with over the course of a day. That was nothing more than an acknowledgement of their appeal. This thing with Spock went beyond that; he was drawn to the Vulcan, enamored with the smallest things (Spock's _deportment_ for example – how could the way a man stood distract him so much) and deeply aware that his First fitted the Vulcan stereotype of tall, slender and good-looking.

"…for the next cycle? Your opinion would be appreciated."

Jim blinked and realized that he'd just missed the entire question. "Wanna play chess?" He blurted out, trying out to cover up his ogling. "Mate in six, remember? I still intend on kicking your ass." Almost as soon as he said it, he internally winced; it was a little inappropriate given the situation.

The Vulcan opened his mouth to no doubt accuse him of levity and then just as abruptly closed it again, a bemused light coming to his eyes. "I doubt that any of us are within the optimum frame of mind to engage in that pursuit – however if this is your way of implying that you wish for companionship, no such subterfuge is necessary. I have always found your company to be satisfactory."

 _Keep talking like that_ , some part of him mentally murmured with an accompanying sigh, _and I won't be held accountable for my actions._ The familiar warmth that he had experienced in Spock's presence, even before the Vulcan's proclamation, surged through him until he felt like doing something reckless. "Weren't you the same guy who had me jettisoned to an ice planet?"

Rather than return with the standard quip, the Vulcan merely gazed back at him. Jim paused, uncertain. Their friendship had erased any lingering resentment or grief over the disaster of their first meeting and the tragedy surrounding it, but – _way to go, JT, remind him of that day especially now!_

Pinning him in place with an intent gaze, the Vulcan unclasped his hands and brought them together by stepping forward. Jim held his breath, startled by how affected he was just by their proximity. "Our inauspicious beginning does not accurately reflect my regard for you both as my commanding officer and my friend."

He looked away, feeling his face heat up even more. To say he was caught off guard a little was an understatement. He knew they were going to address this one way or another, but here? In the turbolift, post-shift, while the ship lurched towards a confrontation they may not walk away from?

"Jim…" Spock started, gentle eyes searching his face before reaching up as if to cup his face. The unsteady hand, curled shyly, barely caressing his clavical bones before returning to the Vulcan's side.

"Yes?"

Sensing that the Vulcan had exhausted the limits of his daring, Jim took Spock's uncertain hand in his own and squeezed. He was surprised when Spock responded, bringing his other hand over to cover their joined hands. For a moment, they simply stood there, in an awkward state between comradery and intimacy, making Jim feel all of ten years old. Then something prompted Spock to reach up, to make the gesture unmistakeably more than a friendly overture. There was a whisper of a stroke along the bottom curve of his lip in a reverent gesture with the tips of two fingers. A shiver tingled through Jim at the sensuality.

It was over quickly but they returned to the awkward clasping of hands but that single touch ignited something inside of Jim, something terrifying and immense. His eyes traced Spock's features, his chest filled to overflowing at all they would achieve together, what could become of their friendship, _this_ , the adventures they would have. They just had to survive the next 72 hours or however long it took to take down Nero.

"I have never…" Spock mumbled in a wistful distracted voice that almost didn't sound anything like him, "I have never done that before."

For a moment, Jim thought it was a reference to Spock accosting him in the lift, but then he realized that he'd just been kissed, in the sweetest, most underhanded way possible. Jim's stomach trembled at the realization. "Spock," he started to say, but then the lift slowed.

Abruptly they broke apart, hands returning to their sides. Composing himself, he nodded greetings to the crew waiting to board and shuffled to the side to make room. Across the small enclosed space of the lift, Spock's watchful eyes rested upon him.

Jim ignored it, even after they reached Deck Seven, the crew bid him goodnight and lift doors were closed, leaving him alone with Spock once more. Vulcans might be masters of self-control, but he wasn't, and what he desired from Spock wasn't something he wanted to share in a public corridor under security surveillance. As if something was chasing him, he headed for his quarters, painfully aware of Spock matching his pace. No one looked at them as they strode past and why would anyone take notice; he'd lost count of the number of times they'd walked this route together at the close of a shift to their adjacent quarters. _  
_

"Come in for a minute?" He asked.

Spock hesitated, looking as though he'd take up the invitation but then shook his head. "Unfortunately, I must decline. Goodnight Jim."

Disappointed, Jim muttered goodnight and practically hurled himself inside as soon as his cabin doors opened. A guilty part of himself reminded him that as this was the eve of perhaps the most decisive, certainly the most dangerous, part of their entire mission he couldn't afford to be distracted. The rest of him though was overwhelmed, giddy on the warmth that had taken up residence in his stomach. He'd been sure Spock would accept his invitation... maybe it hadn't been– Jim crushed those thoughts before they could take hold as he stripped off his gold uniform shirt. Sleep, that's what he needed. More than ever he needed to be well-rested for whatever was to come. Unexpectedly the comm. at his door whistled. Figuring it was Bones coming to check on him, Jim rolled his eyes and didn't bother to replace his shirt as he called out "Enter!" only to freeze when he spun around to greet his late visitor.

Spock transfixed him with a look that sent a thrill through him. "Jim, may I enter?"

He mutely nodded his head, struggling with the smile that just wouldn't go away whenever Spock was around. Hesitating for a moment, Spock stepped inside allowing the door slid shut behind him. Jim turned away, sitting down to take off his boots, struggling to ignore the fact that they were alone together in what was essentially his bedroom. Ship's business, he reminded himself forcefully, that's what your Exec is probably here for, stop embarrassing yourself. Besides, a little handholding was hardly something to get excited about! Steeling himself, he tugged to straighten his black undershirt and prepared to face his Exec.

"What is it, Spock, what –?" The question lodged in Jim's throat as he spun around only to find his eyes locking with the Vulcan who had somehow migrated from the door to less than two inches from him. His stomach flipped and a whoosh of air escaped his lungs in a surprised gasp that was quickly stifled.

Spock repeated the caress of his lower lip with two curled digits, barely skimming across the skin with the backs of his fingers. He shivered again, harder, and pressed their foreheads together, his senses attuned to Spock's mouth.

"This is bad idea…" Jim breathed.

"I concur," Spock said raggedly against his mouth.

 _But if we may perish tomorrow anyway...what the hell._ Surging forward, he captured the hot mobile lips with his own in a furious kiss that quickly descended into what almost felt like a fight when Spock pushed him back, ankle hooking around his calf to topple him onto the bed. Jim moaned into the kiss, straining upwards to wrap his arms tightly around Spock's head, his hands digging into the dark hair to get better purchase. Guilt and pleasure warred inside of him.

"Wait, wait…" Whatever else he was going to say was lost in the wet heat of Spock's mouth as the tides were turned and he was kissed passionately, hands roaming over his body, sneaking under the hem of his shirt to skim over the flesh there. Panting, Jim pulled away with a whimper, the last shred of his sanity reminding him that he was _the captain_ dammit, and this was _not_ the time.

Flipping them on the bed so he was on top, he scrambled off Spock and threw himself to the far side of his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"We can't…" he panted into the bedspread, "Spock, we can't…" A part of him couldn't believe he was going to say this but, "Spock, I care about you, I've wanted this but – tomorrow, we're" Jim took a deep breath and tentatively looked over. The sight of Spock, disheveled and smoldering at him, was enough to make him want to jump up and scream at the top of his lungs. He quickly looked away again, fisting the sheets.

"The mission comes first." His voice trembled with the strain of holding himself back. "I can't have this distracting me and I–" Jim swallowed thickly, "I need a First Officer right now and not…" He didn't finish the sentence, still not entirely sure what Spock wanted to be in his life.

The Vulcan slowly sat up in the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I have waited a long time for you," he confessed in a low rough voice that sent tremors down Jim's spine, "it did not do me any harm then and will not do me harm now."

Jim remained on the bed, face down as Spock got up and left his quarters through their joined bathroom. Finally alone, he buried his face in a pillow and curled up around it. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Sleep, that's what he needed. Yup, he thought glumly, not moping at all.

* * *

_The Neutral Zone - USS Saltash, year 2246_

Christopher Pike had been in one or two tough skirmishes with the Klingons, and so he knew what a battlefield looked like. But he still found himself wordless as he stared at the broken wreck of Tango Outpost VI drifting almost peacefully in space. It hadn't been just attacked, the station had been utterly pulverized, holes the size of houses punctured the hull. It had been the same, for all of the outposts they had come across.

Krishna turned from his station. "I have attempted to raise the stations along the Neutral Zone. By the time they get the message and reply by subspace transmission, Captain…"

They'd either survive or perish, Pike realized, no matter how many messages the ship sent – if there were ships, then maybe they could evacuate and make a run for it but if not… He gripped his chair armrests harder and spun to face the helm.

"Lieutenant Garrett, look up all outposts, Federation or otherwise, storms, anomalies and call up the manifests of any shipping that is due to pass through that area in the next thirty hours, then take the data from the _Narvik_ and _Douglas_ and see if you can give me a rough estimate of our target's course and heading." The navigator nodded and quickly bent to her task.

Winona and he had barely had two words together since Sickbay but he'd seen the look she shot him before shuttling back to the _Douglas_. They had held a final situation-analysis meeting in the small briefing room via subspace conference with Karros. Headquarters couldn't spare more ships for the search, their hands full dealing with the rapidly warming cold war with the Romulans. Their mission was simple – find the temporal incursion and stop it; Winona had been given broad discretionary rights regarding how that could be achieved.

It was a risky move to split up, but they had to locate the Romulan vessel as soon as possible and stop it from getting closer to the populated systems, even if it meant sacrificing one of the ships in the process – the loss of life should the vessel start attacking a planet was unacceptable, unfathomable, _horrific_. At least, Pike thought darkly, he actually knew what they were up against – a goddamn Romulan ship from the future outfitted with advanced weapons and shields. The _Bendigo_ , Starbase 10, and the Tango Outposts – they had all been taken by surprise.

"Sir, receiving encrypted subspace transmission…it's the _Narvik_ – they report that they're en route to Zavijava."

Pike nodded. There was nothing else for them to see here. "Helm, take us to the rendezvous point."

"Aye-aye, sir, course adjusted."


	22. Chapter 22

_En route to Vulcan: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

"Captain, I'm picking up an echo on the emergency channels…"

Jim spun around from where he was bent over the engineering console, tensing at the odd expression on Uhura's face. Across the bridge, Spock met his gaze. He didn't know if he should be relieved that something was finally happening or wanting to run away as fast as possible.

"It's coming in coded over telemetry," Uhura said tersely. "There's something strange about it. I'd say their audio was down except that it's coming over the lowest grade signal capacity."

Jim caught her look and felt his throat tighten. Back in their days at the Academy together, communications students would sometimes refer to that as the "panic channel" because it read like a last resort. His inner alarms began to sound. "Accept and decipher, Lieutenant."

Uhura didn't bother to respond with an aye-aye, her fingers already dancing across her console. "It's some form of SOS…some of the coding suggests Federation, possibly Denebian…" She worked more swiftly as an unnatural stillness permeated the bridge, everyone turning to watch her. The usual hums, chirrs, and buzzes of a starship's bridge on automatic, typically lost underneath chatter, suddenly seemed like a dull roar in Jim's ears.

"I've lost them!"

To fight the nauseous feeling in his gut, he went to the centre chair and grasped the chair back. "Try again. Did any other ships respond to the message?"

"Negative."

"Sir…?" One of the Science department ensigns interrupted from the starboard upper deck as she peered into her viewer. She frowned at her screen and trailed off into silence, her brow furrowed. Jim waited for her to finish her sentence, barely managing to keep a lid on his impatience.

"Captain!" The ensign snapped, "I'm reading antiproton flushback on the long-range sensors!"

Every single person on the bridge stared at her in shocked disbelief before abruptly flying into action. The shields snapped up, departments were called, Blue Alert status was logged and people scrambled around preparing for battle stations or worse.

Jim spun around, "Spock, can you confirm the readings?"

The Vulcan was already there, peering gravely down the viewer of the long-range sensors. Jim gritted his teeth and fought against the urge to shout for Spock to hurry up. Deciding not to wait, he dropped back into the chair and said tersely, "Sulu, set a course for the origin of the flushback and engage as soon as Spock has the coordinates." He hit the button on his armrest for ship-wide address. "All hands, this is your captain, prepare for emergency warp!"

Sulu and Chekov did not respond verbally to his commands, their concentration upon their consoles and each other's actions. Though they seemed to ignore each other, Jim knew that they were utterly in sync and were in their own way communicating. A stray lock of Chekov's hair sprung free from the careless side brush and hung over his eyebrows teasingly. The young Russian ignored it and kept working.

Jim spun around to face his Science Officer but before he had the chance to speak, Spock turned to him. "Flushback confirmed, Captain. It is emanating from the Virginis Beta sector, Zavijava System – bearing 335-4-1."

Dammit, that was close enough to the Romulan Neutral Zone to be a target! They exchanged looks, Spock's eyebrows drawing tightly inwards. _Was it Nero or a false alarm?_ Jim flashed his First a small grim smile and switched on the armrest intercom. "Kirk to Engineering – prepare shields for forward-starboard antiproton flushback." Then he immediately turned to Uhura, "Initiate code one emergency."

She went straight to her controls. Within seconds, her voice thrummed through the Enterprise corridors and decks, brittle with urgency. "This is the bridge… all hands on deck, code one emergency, I repeat, code one emergency!"

Instead of the now-habitual yellow lights of general alert status, bright electric-blue alert lights began to flash across the bulkheads. His armrest comm. whistled and Scotty voiced leaped up at him, 'Scott to bridge! Verifying orders – did you say flushback, Captain?'

"Yes Scotty," Jim said tersely, "flushback."

'Ah,' even with half a ship between them, he didn't miss the flinch in the Chief Engineer's voice, 'Scott out.'

The intercom switched off. The noise on the bridge increased as people called departments, and departments began to call back with updates on their preparation progress. Science deck reported all hands ready, dangerous substances secured, systems backed up. Engineering notified all crew members were on standby, relief crew being called in. Sickbay confirmed that they were prepped and ready.

"Jump to warp in five."

Jim straightened and stared resolutely forward as the ship shot into warp, the stars distorting into long streaks. Flushbacks didn't occur in nature. Unless this was some new technology they had yet to encounter, an antiproton flushback this strong could only mean one thing: a heavy cruiser warp engine had exploded out there and it hadn't been an accident.

* * *

The sound of the alert alarms startled both of them from sleep, making them jump and huddle even closer together on instinct before they recognized what it was. Spock leaped from the top bunk to turn on the lights, his senses on full alert.

"What's going on?" James shouted over the noise, one hand clamped over a ear protectively.

As if to answer their questions, the intercom crackled to life: 'This is the bridge… all hands on deck, code one emergency, I repeat, code one emergency!'

James looked to him, eyes wide in fright. "…Code one emergency!"

From out of nowhere, a shockwave slammed Spock to the deck, the entire ship seeming to flip on its side. Overhead James cried out in surprise and toppled off the bed. Once the shaking had stopped, their pillows and bed covers were strewn across the other side of the room, and they were both lying face-down on the deck. The lights went out, plunging the room into total darkness.

"James!"

"S-Spock!" came the weak reply, "are you okay?"

"Yes, I am uninjured. Are you?"

"I think so."

Spock scrambled to his feet then helped a shaken James to stand. Leading the other boy, he found the cabin door and fumbled blindly with the controls. For a moment, he feared the door would not react but then it slid open sluggishly with a harsh hiss.

The Klaxon alarms were even louder in the chaotic hallways as crew members brushed past them, most half-dressed, some simply in their sleeping clothes. The wall intercoms shrieked as every department on the ship tried to get through, calling for back up. A medical team was jogging down the long corridor and checking crew members before giving them permission to man their station. He recognized Doctor Talleria almost immediately and was about to call out to her when the ship lurched violently sending him into the wall with a hard thwack. Spock bit back a cry of pain, his head throbbing. Cries of surprise filled the air as the corridor plunged into darkness, leaving only the emergency lights.

Suddenly the blue lights flashing down the walls switched to red and a new message blared over the intercom. 'Red Alert! This is not a drill! Code one emergency! I repeat, code one emergency!'

The noise level in the corridor increased, people struggling against one another to reach their departments and stations. Spock could no longer make sense of anything. He snapped from left to right, trying to see, trying to find James. His insides were shuddering, his muscles were tense as if they might snap, and he – and he – _he was afraid._

"Spock!"

Spock's head snapped up at the shout, eyes searching the crowd before finally landing on the other boy's worried face. Spock felt his fear subsiding into a low-burn beneath his ribs as James crawled over to him.

"I am well." He spoke preemptively, examining James in the dimness. Spock relaxed when he found that there was no visible injury or signs of unnatural movement. Joining hands, they stumbled to their feet and leaned on one another as the turbulence continued.

James' head snapped around to follow one of the crew members who jogged past them, "Chief Johnson!" The crewman didn't look back, disappearing down one of the emergency shafts. James met his eyes with a stricken expression. "I have to go to Engineering, Spock! They might need me!"

No! He tightened his grip on James' hand. Though there was no truly safe place on a starship during a battle, Engineering was the most dangerous and usually contained the most casualties. "James, the standard procedure is for civilians to report to Sickbay during an attack! The auxiliary bridge is–"

The boy shook his head, fear and determination fighting for dominance on his face. "No, Spock! I need to help them! I need to –" the boy pulled away abruptly.

Spock frantically reached out to seize a hand, a wrist, a scrap of clothing but James was already sprinting down the hall. 

* * *

Deep Space Hazards 101, Sulu thought in a daze, remaining in his chair by force of will alone, they taught about antiproton flushback and ion storms in Deep Space Hazards 101, an introductory course for all first years and those signing up to be crewmen. Commander Spock and Captain Kirk's shouted discussion flung back and forth over his head but he could hardly concentrate on it. At the corner of his eyes the readings for the waves of antiproton flushback hitting the ship seemed almost like some kind of harmonic composition broken down into graphic form. It felt more like a giant hammer.

"Captain we're not going to be able to hold warp!" Sulu warned, his readouts showing critical stress on the ship's shields, engines and power systems.

The intercom buzzed noisily on every bridge speaker including his. It was Scotty's voice, so badly distorted that the helmsman had a hard time making it out. 'Engineering to …she cannot…save the shields! Main power's already… offline until… losing the warp engines!'

It was the only warning they got before the main lights cut and the ship lurched out of warp.

Everything went red. Proximity alarms erupted into the momentary silence. His console flashed critical warning messages from three different sources. Around him the noise level rose to a shriek as the viewscreen cut from the distorted lines of starlight to a hot molten wall of red. His heart leaped hard in his chest. Heat flared across his skin painfully. They had stopped mid-warp in front of a star.

* * *

The ship shook like it was falling apart, making his teeth clack together and his stomach quake. Then without warning, gravity took a nosedive to the left. Crewman who weren't hanging onto something rolled and tumbled along the tilted deck with grunts and cries. James grabbed the edges of the console for dear life as powerpacks and hyper spanners smacked into him. Just as abruptly as it started, gravity righted itself. Alarms continued to moan, though one couldn't tell the difference anymore between the Red Alert and the various other warnings also screaming for attention.

He looked down to the main level of Engineering deck, filled with officers running everywhere and then to Lieutenant Dimitriadis, one of the engineers whom he usually assisted. "What's going on?" He cried, because this wasn't the same – it wasn't like before, when the entire ship was caught in a big wave. This felt like something had them in its grasp, like- like a tractor beam! "What's happening?"

* * *

The helmsman stared at the burning plasma monstrosity swallowing up the entire viewscreen, frozen in shock.

"Sulu, get us out of here!"

The intercom crackled loudly as someone's voice erupted from it in a burst of defiance then fell silent.

"SULU!" The captain's yell cut through his astonishment.

Impulse engines! Impulse engines! His heart pounded away in his chest as his numb hands flew across the console, faster and faster until he couldn't tell if his heart was beating or not. Sulu's fear fell away as training took over and he anchored himself to the sounds of Kirk and Chekov's voice, shouting orders and directions. He felt a dull roar rumble through his skeleton as if he were the ship, impulse maneuvering thrusters flaring into life to halt their descent.

His grip was firm on levers as he took control. _This_ was what he knew, this was what he was _good_ at, Hikaru Sulu reminded himself forcefully, throwing off the panic that gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. He ignored the sweat of panic that broke out across his body and hard turned the ship, flipping her onto her belly as Kirk shouted for radiation shields six, seven and eight to be boosted. Like an extension of himself, Sulu felt the _Enterprise's_ horrible screech as she strained to comply, the inertial dampeners and artificial gravity protesting as they were worked to the max.

The ship dove downwards hard, her nose pointed aft starboard. For an eternity it seemed as if blistering heat licked at his cheeks, and then at an almost agonizing slow pace, they were moving. Sulu felt sweat drip down his temples and his neck as he stared at his display, watching the triangle that was _Enterprise_ turn from the star and then- and then...

The triangle moved, and then again, and then again – each pulse showing an increasing distance from the star. The proximity alarms went silent.

On the viewscreen, a sliver of dark space appeared as they scraped past, skimming along but never touching that hot molten ocean until, utilizing that momentum they shot outwards with a sudden burst of speed.

Air came in an explosive gasp as his lungs unfroze. They were clear, Sulu thought in a daze, _they were clear._

* * *

Jim Kirk took a deep breath as he ordered the ship to hold their position behind the concealing mass of the first planet in the system before finally letting go of the death-grip he had on his chair arms. The noise level on the bridge rose, but the sense of relief and victory was short-lived. The intercom went crazy as officers started reading off the damage reports and casualty estimates. Disorientation receded as reality set in.

_Shit, we almost melted ourselves in a star!_

Jim swallowed thickly. He never appreciated Sulu and Chekov more than right now in moments like these. "Where exactly are we?"

'The Zavijava system, sir.'

Well, at least they'd reached the system. "Critical damages?"

"Warp is offline, we've still got impulse, shields, weapons–" Sulu looked up from his console, "the cloak's totally gone, sir. Engineering reports that it's not feasible to attempt any repairs at this time."

Jim waved it away – he couldn't care less about the cloaking device right now. He looked to Uhura, "Get me a direct line, discreet, I want to talk to Engineering."

She nodded and a moment later looked up to him from her board, "Mister Scott on line one, sir."

"Scotty, how bad is it?"

'Just hanging on, Captain! I've got some injured – sent whoever I could spare to Sickbay, but I can't seem to get through on the comm.,' the Scotsman shouted through the speakers, his voice crackling on every second syllable. Jim looked to Uhura, "Get someone down there." She nodded.

'…leak in sections 4 and 5 – I got my best man on it.' From the sound of his heavy breathing and distorted voice, Scotty was wearing a respirator and probably moving through Engineering deck, harried on all sides by repair crew. It went unspoken that whatever they just went through was no mere antiproton flushback. 'Main power coupling's a wee bit overloaded – between the shields and the warp engines, it just couldn't handle any more. We've got auxiliary power running just fine though and…'

"Captain," Spock's voice cut through the noise on the bridge and drew Jim's focus from his conference with Scotty, "I'm reading five ships, on the edge of the Zavijava system, mark 88 point five." The Vulcan didn't shout but everything about him screamed urgency. He met Jim's gaze from the science console, "I am positive based on the readings that the _Narada_ is among them – it appears the other vessels are under attack."

 _Nero_ , Jim exhaled roughly, _we meet again – if we never meet again it'll be too soon_. Bridge activity went into a temporary lull at the announcement. Slowly, one by one, the crew looked to him for instructions. He gave a curt nod, refusing to be influenced the palpable tension in the air. "Nearest civilian population?"

"Two billion spread across two colonies and an asteroid field mining operation." Spock replied without waiting a beat. Dammit. If the battle drifted close enough, even just the blast from a ship's warp core going critical could cause a disaster – unless the colonies had some kind of artificial or natural shielding in the upper atmosphere, the casualties could run into the millions. They needed to get the _Narada_ away from the colonies and those ships, and…

Jim went back to his intercom, "Scotty, can you get me warp?"

'You can have warp, Captain, just don't expect it for longer than five minutes!'

He allowed himself a small smile at the man's long-suffering tone. "All I need is fifteen minutes, Scotty."

'Captain, this is no joking matter! She's in no condition for a fight! I need at least ten more minutes to get main power up and recharge enough for any serious pummeling and _even_ then we haven't got the power to just be–!'

"Scotty, you'll get your ten minutes. Just tell me you can give me warp and full weapons for the next three minutes, then another ten minutes of warp to get us to the next sector."

'Aye, sir, I'll see what I can do, but don't say I didn't warn you!'

Jim jumped to his feet, his expression feral, "Helm, lock in a rendezvous course for the ships and jump to warp on my mark. Phasers and torpedoes ready to –"

Sulu spun around, "Warp within in a star system? That's –!"

"Yes, Lieutenant, _warp_ – it's that or we'll be too late for the funeral. Keeping the fight away from those colonies is our highest priority."

"Captain?" Spock stepped down from the upper deck, apprehension in every line of his stiff form. "I agree with the lieutenant's assessment – warp within a system is highly unorthodox and known to be hazardous. Based on Mr. Scott's assessment, we are not in a position to render assistance; I do not understand what you hope to achieve by this reckless move."

Jim met the Vulcan's steady gaze and his lips quirked in a smile. Two years ago, Spock wouldn't have even implied that he had any sort of plan at all, only that his young captain was as usual jumping in with both feet without thinking. These days, they knew each other better. "Commander, did they have cats on Vulcan?" His First Officer tilted his head to the side. "A predator will always go after the one that runs. Besides Spock, _he who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious_."

He saw the flare of recognition across the Vulcan's face – _yes Spock I'm quoting Sun Tzu_ _, again;_ _try not to faint_. Jim turned to Chekov and Sulu, "Helm, lock in a course to rendezvous with the ships."

" _Captain,"_ Sulu protested. Spock cut him off with a curt, "You have your orders, Lieutenant."

The helmsman surreptitiously glanced at the Vulcan for some sort of confirmation and receiving it, went to his task. He conferred with Chekov and decisively typed commands into the helm that were too quick for Jim's eyes to follow. Finally Sulu spun in his chair to face him, face impassive. "Course laid, sir."

He gazed back steadily, acknowledging with a nod the subtle show of support. Taking the command chair, Jim opened the ship-wide intercom. "Attention all crew, this is the captain speaking. We have the rogue Romulan vessel _Narada_ in sight. I'm issuing Special Order 44593…we'll be engaging the enemy shortly – you all have your duties…Kirk out."

He looked to Sulu, "Once we're there, Sulu, I want you to be ready at any point to get us the hell out of there upon my mark. Let's not outstay our welcome – Chekov," the young navigator gave him an apprehensive look, "as soon as we drop out of warp I want you to target that ship and fire everything we've got. Where's the nearest empty corridor?"

Chekov blinked, "Sir?"

"I don't want to give that bastard any leverage. When we bail, I want an uninhabited system or better yet, get me some prime real estate between."

Uncertainty drained from his face as Chekov realized what he was trying to do. "Yes sir!"

Jim sat down and finally permitted himself a glance in Spock's direction. "Let's go and get their attention."

* * *

_Zavijava System: USS Frenzotal, year 2246_

The ship buckled, shaking hard enough that her neck cracked from the force. No one called out where they'd been hit, but her arm console screeched a warning at her. Many of the bridge crew lay injured or unconscious on the floor, half-buried under scorched panels and plastic wires. A support beam had crashed down from above, killing the captain and leaving her in charge. They'd almost suffered a warp core breach two torpedo blasts ago, but the Chief Engineer had given her life to stop it from going critical giving them a few precious minutes. Several more had given limbs, blood and pain to keep the shields up, though they were barely holding. The only thing working was the life support and that was touch-and-go.

They were going to die. That much was clear. Gingerly, she pressed a hand to the wound on her head and peered out with her one eye. She would initiate General Order Thirteen if she didn't know that their attacker was just going to shoot down the evacuation shuttles. She'd seen it with the _Weatherby_ – their captain had made the call, and no sooner had the shuttles taken off than the vessel fired on them, killing everyone.

"SIR, another ship just dropped out of warp!"

First Officer Mendel of the _USS Frenzotal_ snapped up to an incredible sight, distracted from the impending torpedoes streaking towards the battered cruiser. A white ship constructed in the classic-style of Starfleet cruiser-type vessels dove underneath the alien vessel, lashing at it with long strips of red. Dozens of red bursts flew from the unknown ship, hitting their attacker and neutralizing the torpedoes that had been meant for them.

The alien vessel stopped its attacks, seemingly indecisive before starting its barrage again, this time with the new ship as the target. Sparks lit up the darkness as those torpedoes ran into the shields. The ship buckled but pressed on, executing beautifully an upward swing. Her breath caught. Red phaser beams lanced out again and again, furiously pounding the fearsome exoskeleton of the alien vessel, as the ship completed its circumference and then slipped underneath to escape a barrage of torpedoes.

"Who are they?" She demanded.

Across the bridge, one of the few officers left conscious scrambled over the debris to reach the communications console. "No transponder ID."

But they were Starfleet! They had to be – that ship design was Starfleet for sure! That move – it was the _Hyzy_ maneuver, something top Academy pilots learned to perform for evading a firefight.

"They've drawn the vessel's fire…" someone whispered in shock.

"Hail them!" She ordered the officer at the communications board.

"I can't, sir! Same interference!"

Mendel refused to flinch as she saw torpedoes gouge into their rescuer's shields, saw the flickers of the shields struggling to maintain integrity, and saw the ship buckle underneath the onslaught. Something inside of her choked up. _Run_ , she wanted to scream, _run away_. In the chaos of the silent battle raging in front of her, she didn't catch the flare from the long warp nacelles before suddenly the ship was gone, and a moment later, the alien vessel as well.

"They've jumped into warp… they've drawn the vessel away!" Someone behind her gasped.

Silence descended abruptly and as if aware that it was no longer under threat, everything went dark and consoles stopped responding entirely. Even the viewscreen telemetry displays flickered out, leaving it simply as an observation port. The _Jonah_ -class ship listed silently to the side in the darkness of space, adrift. Scorch marks had been scratched down its sides, its innards were showing in several large hull breaches and there were still parts of the hull sparking from the burn, red and painful like open sores.

But they were alive. Around her the remaining officers broke into cries and cheers, confused but jubilant and _alive_.

For the first time in what felt like days Mendel allowed herself to take a deep breath. Then another. And then another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick tidbit - Blue Alert is something I've seen in ST books. It's like Red Alert, but not for dealing with a deliberate hostile encounter. It's reserved for dangerous natural events like solar flares or some kind of unpredictable phenomenon (random wormhole, harmful radiation, etc) whether they're natural or artificial in origin.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend people listen to 'Nero Fiddles - Narada Burns' and 'Nero Sighted' from the Star Trek soundtrack while reading.

_En route to Andoria: USS Enterprise, year 2246_

The _Enterprise_ leaped into warp, cutting away from the battle scene of wrecked cruisers adrift in space to the clean spare lines of stars in reverse. Jim Kirk got up from the central chair expressionless as if nothing worried him. It was an act. They had put off confronting the _Narada_ for as long as possible, trying to complete the upgrades that would give them a fighting chance. The plan was simple: exercise brute force and the element of surprise against a technologically superior opponent. His gut feeling told him that the ship was going to make it, but just how many of the crew would survive, he didn't know.

Jim headed toward the turbolift, talking as he went. "Sulu, you have the conn – as soon as we're out of warp, fly us towards the secondary asteroid field, quarter impulse. Then I want everything off, you hear – everything we can, shut it down. Chekov, make the broadcast." He barely waited for their acknowledgements before continuing, "Uhura, order Officer Morgan's team to leave Cargo Bay 2 and make themselves useful in Engineering." He caught the Vulcan's eye, "You're with me."

His First Officer entered the lift a step behind him and the door shut resolutely, cutting them off from the pale but determined faces of the bridge crew. Their descent to the lower-levels was swift. Moments later, they stepped into smoky darkness, tinted orange and red by the alert lights. Jim came to an abrupt stop, uncertain where he was but Spock stepped past him to take the lead.

"The lifts are inoperable below Deck Seven," was the Vulcan's curt reply to his unspoken question.

Spock wrenched open the door to the emergency stairs and disappeared. Jim followed closely, his stomach tightening as they descended further. The standard lights would come on and then just as quickly flicker out again. It was the same in the corridors. The ship-wide intercom switched on and the sound of Chekov's voice filled the air, calling for the crew's attention. In the corridors, midshipmen and women hustled along, shouting orders, carrying utility trunks, med packs, tool kits and their injured selves, faces tense as they all worked in near silent concert to fix this or move that. Supplies and equipment were taken to where they were needed the old-fashioned way, the intra-ship transporters being offline. Occasionally someone came to attention, standing back to let Spock and Jim pass, but mostly, they were too caught up in damage control and preparations to notice the presence of their command team.

'…In the event that evacuation orders are given, crew are to regroup at the nearest habitable planet. Our mission will then be to assess…'

The door to Cargo Bay 2 opened jerkily as they approached, the lighting dialed to its lowest setting, flickering occasionally. Jim cast his eyes across the thirty odd mechanical contraptions abandoned in no particular pattern, but carefully spaced a meter span from one another, bare circuitry on display. Approaching the first mine, he roughly sealed the open panels and pushed the main charge into place. There was a hiss-click as the capsule was accepted. A side panel began to blink a warning message; the mine was ready to go online. Jim hurried to the next one, doing the same. Some meters away, Spock mirrored his actions.

"Grade 1 propulsion engines and cloak devices are in place. I foresee a complication – the IEDs are not complete; none of the proximity sensors are programmed."

"IEDs?"

"Improvised explosive devices."

"Right," Jim lifted an eyebrow, struck by the name. "Do we have time to do it?" One look at the grim expression on Spock's face gave him his answer. "We'll work with the default; get the guidance system hooked up with the ship's navigation."

"Some adjustments will need to be made…"

"Can you get it to work?"

Spock looked at him from across the bay. "Yes."

Overhead, Chekov's distinct voice continued to speak.

Jim nodded curtly. "Good. I'll take the ones on the left, you go right."

* * *

The heavy cruiser _USS Enterprise_ dropped out of warp, moving silently through space towards the asteroid belt lying beyond the outer edges of the Zavijava system, just over thirty light years from the Neutral Zone. On the main bridge's upper deck, the communications officers sat quietly at their board, monitoring the endless flurry of messages from every part of the ship and logging anything important to pass to the bridge crew. Medical was full, and requesting all security personnel to report for ward duties. Engineering had a medical emergency, which was being taken care of. Areas prone to hull breach were being evacuated and sealed, with all personnel moving onto auxiliary battle stations. On the bridge itself, people wormed under consoles to make repairs for damages incurred from their last encounter, ran emergency diagnostic checks, and prepared themselves for the inevitable.

* * *

Captain and commander headed in concert to the protected shuttle control area, each taking control of a console. No sooner had they linked up the basic propulsion engines to the approach control systems did the intercom whistle. 'Bridge to Cargo Bay 2 – Captain, we've exited warp and are proceeding as ordered.'

"Kirk here – understood, Sulu, boost power to integrity shields. We're opening doors to Cargo Bay 2."

'Aye aye, sir – Sulu out.'

The gravity inside the cargo bay was switched off. _'Cargo bay depressurizing,'_ the computer intoned.

A section of the floor began to shift, opening a window onto the darkness of space. Jim Kirk was rusty but he knew how to handle a Mark V Tractor Web cargo loader. In contrast to many other things he'd been called upon to take charge of as a Starfleet captain, approach control was like sliding his hands into a well-worn pair of gloves. This was stuff he was forced to do as drudge-work back at the Academy, along with office monitoring duty at lunchtimes, supposedly character-building except it was dead boring and he'd played Tetris with the cargo so he wouldn't fall asleep. One hand on the control stick, and his other on the thrusters, he lowered the first capsule through the trapdoor and hit the preset to jettison it then moved onto deploying the second one. Beside him, Spock did the same, somehow organizing it so that his movements were always three steps behind. In tandem, the mines were released, falling away as the ship continued on quarter-impulse.

"This may not work." He began conversationally.

"I have every confidence in your strategy." Spock replied evenly. On their joint display, the squares representing the mines moved into position.

He cracked a small absent smile. "Even though they can outrun and outgun us?"

"I have faith in you," the Vulcan said quietly. Another mine left the bay, but Jim didn't see it fall, gaze riveted to Spock's bowed head, but no more words were forthcoming as the Vulcan concentrated upon his duty. Swallowing thickly around the sudden lump in his throat, he blinked to clear his head and turned back to his own waiting console.

This had been an off-chance idea, something he'd happened upon while doing some light reading on the Warp Five project and Archer's autobiography covering the events of the Romulan War. He hadn't taken it seriously at the time, and certainly never expected to use the tactic himself. Cloaked Romulan mines – the idea was a whim but Spock had taken it on board. He didn't know how effective they would be, but in a confrontation with the _Narada_ , he was willing to take anything he could get.

"In the event that General Order Thirteen is issued, take charge of the evacuations and head for the nearest port. Don't look back, don't stop." Jim didn't look over, his eyes fixed stonily upon the console screens as the mines spread themselves out.

Spock stilled. "Do you not intend to join us?"

 _Captains go down with their ship_ – that was how the saying went. But Jim had never considered himself sentimental or even a traditionalist. He met Spock's probing gaze with crooked smile. "Actually, I'm hoping that it won't get to that." He glanced back to the console's viewscreen. "Still, my order stands – you will evacuate the crew, get to the nearest port, and if you get that far, report to the DTI."

Jim Kirk had no illusions regarding the threat they were up against. Almost tenderly, he gave a distracted pat to the approach control console; the ship had taken a lot of punishment in the two plus years he had had the pleasure of captaining her. Each time, they had managed to if not walk away, at least limp with some kind of dignity. Often, there was no help out there in the greater galaxy for them to call upon and they just had to make do. And sometimes, it just wasn't enough. "Your priority will be the crew, and maintaining the integrity of the timeline. Though at this rate I have a feeling Nero knows that's what we want and is deliberately pissing us off by–"

Dry lips brushed the side of his jaw, drawing a surprised intake of breath from him. The slow deliberate but oddly chaste kiss surged through his flesh like an electric shock, freezing him in his place. Spock drew back and looked at him without guile or explanation, oddly silent on the statistical likelihood of their demise that usually peppered their pre-battle conversations. On the display, the mines fell into formation and the squares representing them switched from blue to red as the cloaking devices activated, flashing insistently in warning.

"Do that a-" His words were cut off by Spock's mouth upon his, silencing him. Jim froze for a moment, indecisive before closing his eyes and kissing back. The intercom whistled. He jerked back guiltily, eyes snapping open.

'Bridge to Captain Kirk,' Sulu's small electronic voice filled the small compartment like a shout.

Spock didn't move away, remaining too close for composure. His hand blindly groping behind him for the switch, Jim said, "Kirk here," relieved to hear that his voice sounded normal.

'Captain, the Romulans are here.' Sulu's voice was low and tense. A chill went through him, sending the hairs at the nape of his neck on end – dammit, _dammit_ , too soon, it was all happening too soon. His hands reached out to grab the sides of Spock's shoulders, clenching the material of the blue science jersey before he let go, stepping back decisively. 'We're in position, sir, shall I raise shields?'

"No, no, hold the shields. Have they spotted us?" Next to him, Spock opened a discreet channel to Chekov and began to transfer the IED coordinates over to navigation.

There was stretch of quiet on his line, then finally Sulu breathed a relieved, 'Negative, sir, but their weapons are online.'

"Then hold the shields, wait till they're close enough trip our little surprise."

'Sir?' He heard the uncertainty in Sulu's grim tone.

"Hold steady, helmsman, don't give our position away till you have to – got it? Chekov, arm photon torpedos and prepare to fire," he ordered, "lock onto the weak spots – if you can, get their forward and aft shield generator."

'Aye, sir, torpedoes on standby, targets locked and acquired on enemy vessel,' the Russian replied meekly but with determination in his voice. _Good boy_ , Jim thought, wishing he could reach through the intercom and reassure him.

Spock brought up the tactical display on their narrow console viewscreen. Jim counted the mines quickly again – thirty one. The bright white mass representing the Narada cut through the darkness of hard vacuum, edging ever closer to the hidden mines. _Come on,_ Jim held his breath, _come on, you bastard._

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246_

The lights were a deep red, covering the darkened bridge in shades of crimson but no klaxon sounded. At the helm, Hikaru Sulu took a deep breath the way a swimmer might before a dive, painfully aware of the empty central seat behind him. The alien vessel approached in the darkness, several pincers stretched out like some deadly mechanized creature. Terse faces were aglow in the eerie light of console screens, eyes fixed on their enemy. An eager predatory silence fell over the bridge. Next to him, Chekov was almost vibrating. All Sulu could think about was the empty captain's chair, and the fact that he had the conn.

In the dead silence of freezing vacuum, half the mines exploded in a bright burst of light as the enemy ship plowed through them with all the grace of a raging bull. Part of a starboard pincer shattered into a million bits of detached metal plating, spewing squirts of mechanical fluid, twisting wires, sparks from conduits and frozen atmosphere erupting in a cloud of white space dust. But the ship was still moving. Next to him, someone reported the status of the Romulans in a low trembling voice – damaged, but not enough. On the intercom, Kirk ordered him to begin offensive action. 'We're coming up!' The captain said quickly, 'Kirk out!'

"They're powering weapons!" Chekov shouted, looking over to him with wide-eyed panic. The urge to shout back that he wasn't the captain surged through his mouth like bitter bile, and he only managed to choke it down at the last second. Dark pulses of green shot out from the metal animal and headed for them. Panic hit him like an overwhelming weight before his hands found the controls. Revving up the maneuvering thrusters and impulse engines, Hikaru Sulu kicked the ship into a hard downward dive.

"Lock torpedoes!" He snapped, all his earlier reluctance dispersing, " _Fire_!"

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Engineering deck, year 2246_

The ship lurched, artificial gravity flexing and trembling, making his guts fly up to his throat as he felt the sharp dive like he was on an out of control roller coaster. He bit his lower lip until he could taste blood, paralyzed by his fear. The ship shook again, a distant boom making his hair stand up. More shakes followed, making him stagger for his footing like a clumsy little kid. There was a horrible screech of metal and a great wind whipped past, startling the breath from him. Hull breach – his disjointed brain screamed – hull breach! An unnatural silence descended and for single terrifying moment, he thought his eardrums were going to burst. Then suddenly, sound returned: shouts, screams, echoes of immense energy fluxes, hissing ventilation, the clang of metal and boots. The breach had been sealed. Another teeth-grinding shudder went through the enormous engine room.

"Oh, my God!" Lieutenant Dimitriadis cried, drawing his attention. Their entire console lit up with warnings. All the readings were fluctuating wildly with every buckle of the ship under fire.

James looked up. Overhead, one of the heat-transfer pipes hissed thick yellow-green smoke through a crack in the triple-layered supposedly unbreakable matrix of the tube. On the console, the radiation signal flashed neon while the noxious-gas warning bellowed. Everyone started to cough.

"Don't breath!"

James covered his mouth and nose, his eyes starting to burn. The lieutenant grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from the console in the direction of the exit, many of the engineers already fleeing and gasping for air. "Come on, we gotta–!"

"You're online!" James yelled, catching sight of the console display flashing neon yellow and pink for attention. Shield stabilizers and phaser banks screamed for power as the main power conduits became overtaxed to compensate for the duress of battle.

"Shit!" The lieutenant swore and clamping a hand over her face, began punching in codes and commands frantically. "Get the respirators!"

Falling onto his hands and knees, James scrambled along the side of the console, desperately trying to look for the release button. The air was becoming harder and harder to breath, choked with smoke and bitter chemicals. He had just managed to grab two respirators when the ship shuddered again, even more violently than before, sending Lieutenant Dimitriadis stumbling into him. The lieutenant righted herself and dove for the console.

He struggled back onto his feet, only to be hit with a mass of broken tubing and something wet, oily. James hit the ground hard, air gushing from his lungs as he flailed senselessly, losing the respirators in the struggle. He didn't know what had hit him and in his blind panic, he thought he could feel it burning through his skin. A hard hand gripped his left arm and instinctively he shrunk back but there was no fighting the lieutenant. She hauled him up without looking at him, shouting at another crewman. An ominous groan was the only warning before the gangplank connecting the level above them to one of the Jeffries tubes collapsed. In the noisy chaos, James felt hands grab hold of him and shove him out of the way with a cut-off scream.

He hit the side of the console and tumbled onto the deck with a cry. "Lieutenant!" James jerked up, looking around him wildly. The wreckage of what used to be a walkway surrounded him. Getting up on unsteady legs, he stumbled over the debris. "Lieutenant? _Lieutenant_!" He cried in relief, sighting a hand.

The lieutenant's arm limply jerked with each of his pulls. In the distance, he heard shouted commands, the sound of boots pounding the metal decks, the frantic hiss of ventilators clearing the air and James knew he had to run but his brain couldn't seem to work, his legs had turned into jelly and his chest – he couldn't breathe.

"She's gone, she's gone!" Someone yelled in his ear, "Let go! Come on!"

James felt the man grip him by the arms, and though he tried to shake the man off, he wasn't strong enough. The man hauled him to his feet roughly and gave him a shove between the shoulder blades that had him stumbling towards one of the ladders. James didn't have enough oxygen to argue. They were halfway down the ladder when the entire ship buckled, the lights flickered and new orders were being shouted down the intercom.

There was another ominous shudder and the entire ladder started to tilt backwards.

"JUMP!" Someone bellowed.

James closed his eyes and leaped.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246_

"INCOMING!" Chekov shouted, making his skin jump.

Grasping the controls tightly, Hikaru Sulu kicked up the thrusters and dove hard to starboard, neatly slicing below the _Narada_ and emerging on the other side, sailing past the torpedoes that had been aimed at them. A powerful blow swiftly followed as two more Romulan torpedoes were fired, latching onto their power signature like hound dogs to scent of blood, kicking the starship violently from the rear.

"…Target mark three nine four – fire phasers!"

"Phaser emitter two is out! Switching to backup cannon!"

"Damage report!"

'…Total power failure on Decks 10 through to 8! We have confirmed casualties – Engineering was heavily hit! Main power holding at 43 percent!'

The _Enterprise_ trembled as torpedoes were jettisoned out into the darkness of space and the phaser cannons punched out flurries of bolts. On the bridge, a fresh wave of crackles and smoke broke out as the Romulans retaliated. The ship rocked and shuddered, again and again.

"Shields are at 63 percent and dropping!"

Lieutenant Leslie shot up from his seat at the Engineering station, forehead burnished with sweat. "Warp drive's been knocked out!"

Even though the emergency lights were switching on and off, the helmsman could read his screens. He could see the damage reports coming in, the warnings, but he ignored them, focusing entirely on his duties. Behind him Captain Kirk was negotiating appeals from their Chief Engineer for a reprieve from the barrage. When did the captain get back to the bridge? The question drifted distantly through his mind, but was quickly relegated to the back of his mind. Kirk was here – that was enough. He banked with the starship to the side in a hard left roll, then straight up till he could feel his ears popping.

"Divert auxiliary power from port nacelles to forward shields!" Kirk ordered. Leslie nodded from the Engineering console. The captain stumbled from the upper bridge deck to slam his fist down on the command chair intercom. "SCOTTY! Where the hell are my secondary phaser cannons?"

'…She cannot take anymore, Captain! I'm giving you all she's got!'

"Don't be a cliché, Scotty!" Kirk barked, "Come on!"

'You're beating water from a stone, Captain! I need five bloody minutes, five–! Just to get her–!'

The entire ship reeled from another hard blow. He heard Kirk bellow at the intercom. Chief Engineer Scott didn't answer. One of the upper consoles exploded in a mess of sparks, sending detached metal plate fragments flying and several hit crewmembers went down, the sound of their screaming blanketed by the boom. Their enemy turned hard port, pincers stretching for them like wicked claws.

"Veer off – now, now, _NOW_!"

Sulu pulled up, trusting the ship's compensators to take care of the gravity as he shot the ship straight up and over the top of the Romulans, trying to confuse their torpedoes. He could tell that Commander Spock had dialed the artificial gravity down and turned the compensators up when he didn't black out. The stars dizzily spun as the starship turned on her axis and flickered as she shot into full impulse, then neutral, and finally a hard aft port ninety degree up. The pulsing torpedoes arched towards them, guidance systems trying to compensate but missed wide to the rear.

The _Narada_ fired another volley and began to turn.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Engineering Deck, year 2246_

James shimmied along the floor on his knees and elbows, desperately trying to reach a respirator. His entire body shook in barely controlled terror but he kept going, lungs aching for air, eyes watering. He was too terrified to draw a breath even though he could hear the vents howling to clear the air and pump in new atmosphere. Even when he finally fumbled the respirator on and gulped down a deep breath, he felt like he was asphyxiating. He could barely see, his chest felt crushed and his heart was pounding out of control. Around him, the noise continued unabated, each tremor of the floor running through him like a live current. Suddenly he wondered if he should have come to Engineering, if he should have stayed with Spock in their room or followed the Vulcan to Sickbay. It was too late to back down now.

He pushed himself up and realized that the body lying next to him was Commander Watson. James swallowed painfully and holding his breath, rolled the man onto his back. The officer gave him a bleary dazed look, blood peaking through his receding hairline and soaking his dark hair. Commander Watson reached for him. He took the man's hand with his own trembling ones.

"Commander?" He croaked weakly through the mouth speaker.

The officer made a wordless wheezing sound and focused on something behind him, cloudy eyes clearing for a moment. He glanced behind him, following the man's gaze. With a shiver, James remembered that the engineer manned the back up auxiliary power controls, and even now the console blinked and beeped for attention. If no one did anything, auxiliary power would fail completely.

The steamy weight of gases pressed around James as he scrambled over to the console and anchored himself there. He overrode the hardware hierarchy and brought the machine fully online. Despite the respirator, his breaths were short, painful and his hands felt numb.

Around him, chaos continued, and almost paralyzing waves of fear washed over him. He drowned it out by focusing on the colors of the display, the procession of buttons, dials, and codes, losing himself in the neatness, the order, the causality links between each action he performed, contributing to the starship's ability to keep fighting. His ears picked up Commander Scott shouting orders amid the cacophony of hissing gas, groaning alarms, shrieks and cries. It became light-years away; James' mind was blank of everything except for the console in front of him. Dazed, he moved without conscious thought, his actions coming to him as if he had known all along but it all felt a bit like a strange and terrible dream.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Sickbay, year 2246_

Spock rushed to the Sickbay doors as they opened to allow rumpled crewmen inside, an injured engineer held up between them. The young Vulcan ran the tricorder across the woman, injected her with the standard mix of pain relief and hydronalin for radiation exposure then directed them to place her in Nurse Chapel's care. Thoughts of James' well-being plagued him though he controlled himself. Even though the dull ache from dashing his head on the floor when the artificial gravity had malfunctioned throbbed sharply as the starship rocked, making him stumble, Spock simply righted himself and kept working.

"You," Doctor McCoy barked from somewhere across the room, overpowering all other sounds, "get me some more TRMD-30 and hydronalin! M'Benga…?" He glanced at the other doctor, "Get M'Benga another carton of Masiform-D and the damn physiostimulator!"

Spock rushed to the storage compartment and quickly grabbed the requested drugs. He handed it off to the doctors before running to the other ward where he'd last seen the physiostimulator being used by one of the nurses. More injured persons came rushing in. There were few serious injuries, for which he was relieved, and most crewmembers were able to be treated and released for duty immediately. The rich metallic smell of blood and charcoal scent of smoke made him ill enough that the Vulcan felt light-headed and unsteady.

The nearby intercom crackled weakly, 'Medical emergency, code 22, Engineering deck! I repeat, code 22, medical emergency, Engineering deck!'

One of the nurses answered it. "Acknowledged! A team is on their way! Doctor O'Connell – Engineering deck!"

Spock looked to the wall intercom, surprise and fear jolting through his body and shocking him out of his automaton state. _James…!_ Ignoring an order from Nurse Chapel, he grabbed an emergency medical kit and bolted for the doors, struggling to get past the newly arrived injured.

Across the ward, Doctor McCoy looked up from where he was prepping his emergency surgical kit. "Hey where are you going? Spock! SPOCK!"

The young Vulcan didn't answer, his face a hard mask of concentration as he dashed through the bustling corridors, dodging running crew members and equipment trolleys alike. Using his eidetic memory, he recalled the schematics of the starship he had been poring over in fascination only a day ago and headed for the nearest emergency shafts, quickly sliding down the ladders in the manner he had observed amongst the crew.

Main Engineering deck was in complete disarray, tool bays tipped over spilling their contents on the floor, consoles scorched from overload, the air thick with smoke, noxious gases, and the hisses of the fire control mechanisms releasing ropey masses of aerated liquids to stamp out the random fires breaking out all over. The wounded were everywhere, leaning on their fellow colleagues or on the floor still waiting to be moved, faces twisted in agony. Others were simply lying slumped over at the foot of consoles, their eyes wide and unseeing, slack faces grimy with charcoal and blood.

Spock felt coldness settle in his belly but he struggled into the fray, stumbling over fallen tools, pushed and shoved. He scoured the gangways, and with each sub-junction he passed of the maze that was the Enterprise's Engineering section, the coldness in his abdomen tightened just a little more till it made him want to throw up. Then suddenly he saw the other boy. James was slumped at the foot of a giant turbine driving flow of plasma coolant, blood streaked through his hair, eyes glassy and unseeing. _James_!


	24. Chapter 24

_USS Enterprise, year 2246_

"Helm, reverse course! Attack pattern bravo six-seven!"

Sweat poured off Hikaru Sulu but he shivered as if he was freezing. This couldn't go on forever, he knew. They were smaller, more maneuverable, but the Romulans were relentless. The _Enterprise_ doubled back, corkscrewing in for another attack. Bolts of bright green blazed from the Romulan vessel, charging right for them. Chekov targeted the incoming torpedoes and red beams lashed out at them, whipping them into scrap. The shields sparked as a cloud of shrapnel, charged particles and radiation slammed against them. Hikaru Sulu threw the ship into a straight down plunge, starboard, then port, finally pulling up at a sixty-degree angle; doing everything he could to avoid a direct barrage. The constantly changing vectors from the maneuver sent everyone scrambling to hold on.

A blast hit the underside of the primary disc, punching through the shields to scorch a phaser cannon mount. The blast reverberated across the bridge, shaking people from their seats. Power failed for a microsecond, killing all illumination. The artificial gravity went haywire and Sulu grabbed for his console as his feet lifted off the floor, shouting in alarm. A second later, he was back in his chair but his concentration had been broken.

"Evasive starboard!" Kirk yelled.

But it was too late. The torpedo blasts hit the _Enterprise_ dead-on, sending the bridge lurching wildly to the side. Half the instruments blew out. Sulu felt the voltage punch through Chekov's body even though he was two meters away. It flung the young man back in his chair, contorting his spine, making his body convulse before he dropped to the deck with a sickening thump.

"CHEKOV!" He yelled, joining the chorus of shocked cries. From his chair, he couldn't tell if the Russian was breathing. His knees ached, caught between leaping up and remaining in his seat. He clenched his hands over the controls and bit back a frustrated scream; Chekov was not the only one injured. Several officers had also fallen on the upper deck including Uhura. Commander Spock rushed to the young navigator's side and dropped to one knee heavily, his hand feeling for a pulse. Sulu heard the captain shout into the intercom as if from a great distance away. "Bones, I need a medic up here!"

A moment later, Kirk was at Chekov's station, his fingers gingerly seeking out which operations were still responding and which ones were gone. "Helmsman! Evasive!" The man ordered, dark blond-brown hair gleaming under the hot glare of Red Alert lights. Swallowing down the bile climbing up his throat, Hikaru Sulu threw the starship hard port aft.

"All power to aft shields!"

The entire ship buckled under another blow. The helmsman gritted his teeth and swung the ship into another sharp turn.

* * *

Through the dark fog that seemed to have fallen over her, Nyota heard the shrieks of tortured metal, people crying out, and Kirk's voice above it all shouting out orders. When she finally opened her eyes she saw Spock crouched above her, his face pale, cast in a bloody glow from the Red Alert, lips moving to issue orders. He didn't know she was conscious. It made her wonder how long she had been out. Nyota struggled to turn onto her belly and crawl up but got only as far as tipping onto her side. Tilting her head up, she looked across the bridge deck from her place on the floor. The captain's chair was empty.

"Kirk..." she croaked weakly, eyes flicking to and fro to find him, " _Kirk_!"

She saw a body being gently lifted from the lower command deck by two security officers. Her chest tightened, fearing the worst. But it was not Kirk. With a shock, she zeroed in on the curly head of hair. _Chekov_ , her lips mouthed silently. The captain had taken over the young ensign's station. A shockwave made the bridge deck tremble, sending a shiver up her spine.

"...Do not attempt to move, Lieutenant, you shall be escorted to Sickbay very soon," she heard Spock murmur, hand light on her shoulder. The pain from her seared hands shot through her, burning hotly as the Vulcan administered first aid. No, she tried to say, no sickbay, she was okay, she could do this. But Spock was not looking at her. His attentions were all upon Kirk at the damaged weapons and navigation console, several functions still smoking – it was obviously not safe, but then again, when had that ever stopped James T. Kirk. The tight compression of Spock's lips and the tilt of his jaw showed his worry. She searched her memory, trying to remember when she had last seen him like this – there was a story there, she thought, and suddenly realized she hadn't shared a meal with the Vulcan in weeks, hadn't truly taken the time she'd promised to remain his friend.

The security personnel approached her and made to take her away. "No," she protested weakly, rolling away from them onto her belly. Painfully, she struggled up onto her knees, pulling away from the hands that reached for her. This was their last stand and she wasn't going to miss it.

"Lieutenant, you're injured –!"

"No!" She snapped. Nyota stumbled into a hard impenetrable wall.

Spock stared down at her, face hard. "Nyota, you are in no condition to continue at your post."

"WE'RE LOSING MAIN POWER!" Someone yelled. Sulu swore in response.

"Commander, with all due respect, I'm _staying_ ," she said, low and hard, her eyes daring Spock to say otherwise. The Vulcan looked at her, lips pursed in displeasure. That look, she noted wryly, had been known to send big burly men whimpering from the classroom, but she didn't back down. _I'm not going to change my mind, Spock, I belong here on this damn bridge with the rest of you_. Their stare down broke off when the bridge rocked again under the force of a heavy blow and they were both sent scrambling for something to hold onto. Kirk shouted for a damage report. Without waiting for confirmation that she was cleared to stay, Uhura threw herself back into her chair and went to work.

* * *

"You all right, James?" Chief Engineer Scott asked him in a quiet voice, hands firm on his shoulders. Around them, the walls trembled, and the packed engineering walkways rattled with each blow as the battle raged on. He nodded mutely. How could the engineer be so calm? Someone yelled for Commander Scott's attention and the man twisted around to yell an affirmative. The hands on his shoulders tightened and pressed him down until he was forced to bend his knees to sit. "You're gonna be just fine, lad. Try to hang on, okie-dokie? You're doing great, I'll be back." And then the commander was gone.

 _Fine_? He didn't think he was ever going to be fine again. Doing great? At _what_? Not panicking? Not screaming, not crying? James slumped against the warm metal behind him, splattered in blood, unable to move, hands trembling. He wanted to get into a sonic shower then scrape a layer of his skin off. He had been working, manning Commander Watson's console when an explosion had sent shrapnel flying. It had instantly killed several of the crew members nearest to him. If he had been any taller, if he had not instinctively ducked at the sound of the explosion, he would have been decapitated. He should be dead. _He should be dead._

A noise made his head snap up. Spock stepped towards him, face pale. James stared at him, not entirely sure if the young Vulcan was really there but desperately he hoped that he was not hallucinating. "James," the image said, in low voice that sounded just like Spock. "James…"

Struggling up he lunged for Spock, the terror that he'd kept down bubbling up in big teary gulps. Pressed into the crook of Spock's neck, James cried like he was choking, beating his hands against Spock's side because why, _why_? They were dead – Lieutenant Dimitriadis, Commander Watson, even Chief Johnson – and so many people he didn't even know. He wanted to _scream_. He'd heard the stories told at those formal _boring_ Starfleet dinners, when the survivors of the _Kelvin_ would come together. He felt small and stupid for never having paid attention, for the way he had sneered at Frank, for those times he had hated dad, for thinking his mom had dumped Sam and him at home so they wouldn't ruin her fun.

A firm hand gripped the back of his neck and shoulder, bringing James abruptly back to his shuddering collapse into Spock's arms. He looked up through his tears, choking on the fumes and smoke that crowded around them. Spock cupped his face. James smiled weakly to reassure his friend and felt his lip crack. "I'm okay," he managed to get out between small wretched gulps of air, "not mine, it's not my blood."

Spock opened his mouth to speak but an abrupt explosion pushed them both off their feet and punched them into the deck with jaw-aching force. He landed on top of Spock, hard, but they scrambled back up together, long past the stage where they were still rattled from the chaos. The alerts seemed to triple in volume, and a red-clad figure came barreling past them howling incoherently. Chief Engineer Scott stopped at one of the subsidiary consoles attached to a railing post and looked up at the upper levels, horror clear on his pale sweaty face. "Mother a' God, the compressor! It cannae be–! It's gonna blow!" Not bothering with the intercom, the man climbed the rails and, holding onto a pole, swung out to frantically signal at the crew on an adjacent gangway above them. "YOU LOT, CLEAR THE UPPER DECK!"

Drowning the commander's shouts out, a plume of hissing, boiling liquid broke from the burned upper part of a port side sectional tank. As if in harmonized chorus, several other tanks and turbines began to hiss and groan. Something blew on the upper deck, sending a shockwave through Engineering that made everything rattle. James snapped around at a new sound from behind. Jerking Spock away from the noise on instinct, he watched wild-eyed as a white-frothy cascade of liquid engulfed an officer who had been running in their direction. He screamed – a dark blood-curling sound – collapsing to the deck, and moments later, what had been his right arm and leg snapped into pieces like he was made of chalk and his uniform was delicate rice-paper. The man gurgled wordlessly, left hand clawing at the deck, then went still.

James stared at him, stunned, and took a faltering step. The solid sheet of gaseous liquid continued to slurp its way along the deck, soaking the area around the dead officer and then dribbling over the edge onto the decks below them. It sent people fleeing.

A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and wrenched him around before he could take another step closer. "Whaddaye think ye doing, lad! Don't be getting any closer! Go now, _get_!" James stared up at Commander Scott, trembling and mouth dry, haunted by what he'd seen. Frustrated, the Chief Engineer turned to Spock. "You get James outta here to safety, lad, and then come back to pick up any stragglers, ye hear?" And then he was being pulled along, Spock's hand so tight around his fingers that it hurt.

' _Auto-lockdown for Engineering Deck initiated – countdown commencing – Section 1 depressurization in ten minutes_ ,' the computer's dry echo informed them.

Frantic shouts erupted in response to Commander Scott's bellows to evacuate, almost as loud as the dangerous gushes and mechanical shrieks. Emergency shields sprang into being as prelude to bulkheads shifting to seal the upper section of Engineering off first. All around them, engineers ran and jostled one another, but never in a disorderly fashion. Suddenly, James tripped and went down hard despite Spock's hand shooting out to grab him by the back of his shirt. His chin clipped the deck, knocking him out of his shock. His head ached like his brain had been rattled inside his skull, and his eyes started watering again but he managed to bite back his whimper. Boots pounded along the flooring as crew scuttled for the exits, passing them. Spock wrenched him up with inhuman strength.

"SPOCK!" The shout halted them at the next junction. A man in Science blue struggled towards them, saturated in sweat, a wounded crewman's arm slung over his shoulder.

"Doctor O'Connell," said Spock, eyes widening in recognition.

"Here!" The doctor ordered, sliding the engineer's arm from his shoulders. Spock took over supporting the unconscious man, and looked to Doctor O'Connell for instructions. James rushed to take the other side. "You and your friend, Spock, get this man to safety!"

"What about you?" James blurted out.

"I'll be fine, go on." Doctor O'Connell clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the evacuation, "I'll be fine, go! _GO!_ "

James shared a look with Spock, and then they were hurrying down the gangway as fast as they could go. Two crewmen had set themselves up to receive the fleeing engineers by the airlock doorway. They were shouting, their voices lost in the cacophony of chaos but James could read the dread on their faces, their lips mouthing "come on" and "faster." A loud abrasive whistle shrilled through the intercom at maximum volume and James flinched in surprise at the sound of his elder self's voice:

'… **I repeat; we're evacuating! Get to the shuttles** _ **now**_ **!'**

They heaved across the threshold, passing off the injured crew member into waiting arms. As soon as his burden was gone, James stumbled over to the nearby bulkhead and collapsed against it in relief, gasping for breath. A medic knelt to administer to the bloody wound on the unconscious man's side.

"Nystrom's stopped breathing! No pulse!" A crewwoman yelled in alarm, appearing around the doorjamb of the next chamber, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders.

"I can administer First Aid," Spock volunteered, stepping through to assist her.

James glanced over at the airlock leading to the maintenance shaft that would take them down to the shuttle bays then back at the smoky hot interior of Engineering deck sub-section 3D, more crew running towards them and safety. Commander Scott and Doctor O'Connell were nowhere to be seen.

' _Depressurization in six minutes…'_ The computer advised. The lights over the airlock seals flashed bright orange as a warning and a guide for anyone still lost in the depths of Engineering deck. Sweat broke out anew over James' skin as the memory of what depressurization did to a human body slammed into full color behind his eyes. The idea made his innards churn and shudder in phantom terror. What was even more terrible was the idea of that happening to Mister Scott.

A woman in Science blue appeared beside him, medical tricorder in hand. James belatedly realized she was a medic. "There's a few more coming," she told the crewmen standing guard at the airlock seals. Strangely detached despite the sweat pouring down her face, she stared hard into the smoke and checked her tricorder again.

"They're going too slow," she said tonelessly, "they're not going to make it."

* * *

The bio-signs didn't stabilize and dipped below critical, matching McCoy's mood. The girl – and she was a _girl_ even if she had that bloody uniform on her – only had a few lacerations, a set of broken ribs, and a burnt hand. Not all that serious on the surface, but she had also taken a high dose of unshielded radiation. Even if he pumped her with the maximum legal dose of hydronalin, it would be useless. Multiple organ failure, internal bleeding; he could keep her alive for another half an hour, but it would be little more than torture, and any goodbyes had been said before they'd put her down. Instead he increased the strength of her sedatives to keep her comfortable and kissed her good hand. "Say hi to my grandma for me," he murmured tenderly. Then, forcing himself to put her hand down, Doctor Leonard McCoy stormed out of the operating theatre, heart heavy. The supporting nurse gave him a wide berth before rushing inside to take care of the rest.

Things were going from bad to worse. Sickbay was the only place with power on this level. Chekov had arrived a few minutes ago and was still unconscious. He had strapped the whiz kid down as a safety precaution, not wanting Chekov to be thrown out of the bed as soon as he turned his back but he was starting to think even that wouldn't be enough with the way the ship was rocking. Another lurch sent him to stumbling backwards against the wall and then onto the floor as the grav-systems attempted to calibrate. Sickbay spun around him; he had to close his eyes to get his balance. Shutting down the part of him that screamed he was flying in a deathtrap, he moved on to his next patient, face grim.

He felt the battle rage on through the skin of the ship; he watched the flow of casualties increase and the number of people released to go back to duty decrease as injuries worsened. He would have loved nothing more than to get onto the intercom and find out what the hell was going on, but he was barely keeping up with admissions, and intra-ship communications were flooded with damage reports and departments bombarding one another with information. He was sealing a nasty cut when something caught his attention in the confusion. It was Chekov, who had ripped off the restraining straps and was rolling himself off the bed.

'"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snapped, gesturing for Chapel to take over so he could bully Chekov back onto the bed – UNBELIEVABLE! _What_ was there – some sort of genius repellent in the air here? "Get back on that bed, Ensign, or I'm gonna whoop your ass you hear!"

"They need me on the bridge–"

" _Get back on the damn bed."_ He ordered darkly, dogging the ensign's attempt to sidestep him.

"–Doctor, _please_!" Chekov pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest.

McCoy jabbed his finger at the bed in question, deadly serious on following through with his threat. He'd just watched three kids slightly older than Chekov die in the last twenty minutes, all because they were young and _stupid_ enough to think that they could keep going! "I am NOT persuaded by that look, kid!" He spat. "You get your lily-white Russian ass into that bed, Chekov, or so help me God, I will sedate you till your twenty-first birthday!"

Undeterred, Chekov opened his mouth to continue his protest. The intercom cut him off.

' **Attention all decks, this is the captain; I'm issuing General Order Thirteen! Evacuate the ship! I repeat; we're evacuating! Get to the shuttles** _ **now**_ **!'**

The noise level in Sickbay dived and his people froze in shock. McCoy turned for a moment to order them to begin evacuation procedures but Chapel beat him to it. "You heard the captain! We're evacuating! MOVE!"

It sent people scrambling. Turning back to address his rebellious patient, McCoy blinked in shock at the empty space previously occupied by the Russian. The Sickbay doors whished open at the corner of his eyes, unnoticed in the chaos, but he caught the quick flash of yellow.

"CHEKOV!" He bellowed, in shock and surprise, "CHEK-!" McCoy closed his mouth mid-yell because _screw this_ , Chekov was long-gone on those marathon-runner legs of his. Cursing as loud as he could, the doctor grabbed a med-kit and fought his way to the doors.

* * *

Spock had never had any interest in medicine beyond the basic. He could perform more than first aid, but he had never had to use the skills before. However, this was not the time to be uncertain about his inexperience. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation – he was a Vulcan and this man was Human, thus the procedure had to be altered slightly for his increased strength and lung capacity. He took a deep breath, choking slightly on hot air heavy with the taint of burned plastic, vaporized metal and chemicals, tilted the injured crewman's head back, opened his mouth, and breathed three breaths into him. The heels of Spock's hands pressed decisively against the engineer's sternum, and compressed the chest rapidly fifteen times in a row. A slow breath, fifteen compressions…

The unconscious man did not react, but Spock kept going. A slow breath, fifteen compressions… A slow breath…

"Immobilize that arm, wrap the leg, first-aid that facial burn. Make her comfortable and then move her, you'll have to stabilize the vitals on the shuttle. Go!" He heard the medic say over the top of his head – his mind was too scattered to recall her name.

At his periphery, someone nodded and bent to comply. Spock did not look over and he did not stop. Statistically he knew that the likelihood of the man under his hands surviving was low, but until the medic ordered him to cease, he would keep going. A breath, fifteen compressions…

Senior engineers loudly discussed the ship's predicament behind him: "We can't get the main back online! The compressor is gone – the whole thing is going to go critical if we turn it back on!" A woman shouted.

"The conduits are fine – we can get main power back online!"

"If we get in there and fix the compressor! You wanna kill yourself, Morgan, you go in there and do it!" The same woman retorted angrily. A breath, fifteen compressions… Spock paused and checked for a pulse; nothing that he could detect. The female crewmember who had solicited his assistance stared at the unconscious man as if she could will him awake. Spock did not let her proximity or state of emotional upheaval affect him. A breath…

At the corner of his eye, he saw James' figure tense after a medic had checked him with a tricorder, suddenly springing through the airlock seals. The two crewmen standing guard shouted in alarm and tried to grab the boy but he just ducked under their swinging arms. Spock's head jerked up, the rhythm of his compressions faltering.

"JAMES!" His shout joined several other shocked cries but no one moved to follow.

His entire body abortively surged forward as if he was going to jump up and give chase. An almost agonizing bitterness shot through him when he came back to himself. It was not logical to go after the other boy right now. He had offered his assistance, and the rule of cardiopulmonary resuscitation was to not stop until a medic could take over or it was clear that the injured person would not recover – if he did not stay and continue, the engineer's fate was sealed. James on the other hand, may not be in any more danger now than he was previously; there was still time until lockdown. _You do not truly believe_ _that,_ a voice hissed rebelliously, _would you sacrifice James for this engineer whose name you do not even know?_ He wouldn't let that happen, Spock vowed, but neither could he abandon this crewman who needed him.

Mechanically, the Vulcan bent to breath into the injured man's mouth and renewed the chest compressions, his even movements becoming crude as his concentration scattered further, his composure flagging. The medic knelt next to him, "Pulse?"

Spock shook his head. A breath, fifteen compressions… She drew a pressure-injector out of her bag, changed the settings and fitted a long, heavy needle to its end. The sight of it chilled him – it resembled what he envisioned barbaric torture implements of the pre-Surak era to have been like. He knew what it was for, but he had never seen one up close. "When I tell you, get out of my way but keep breathing for him. Okay?"

He nodded. The medic cut the shirt open deftly with a small short-range laser. Spock roughly pulled the fabric away, baring the man's chest. "Okay, outta the way!"

He slid aside on his knees then bent to continue blowing air into the man's mouth. What was the count for artificial respiration? Human, not Vulcan – was it fifteen or ten per minute? He slid his hand to hold the unconscious engineer's head just beneath his jaw but still could feel no pulse. Without warning, the medic reared up on her haunches and plunged the needle down with a sharp grunt. The crewwoman watching the proceedings gave a startled cry, making him jerk – he had forgotten her presence entirely.

The man shuddered violently, writhing on the floor before he went limp. Spock's hand sensed a pulse, fast and fleeting but gaining. The man gasped against his mouth, making him flinch in surprise. He was alive. The medic touched his shoulder but Spock was already standing. His body shaking with unspent adrenalin, he bolted for airlock seals and dived back into the thick chemical fog of Engineering before anyone could react.

Behind him, he heard several voices call out but soon he could hear nothing except the shuddering and echoes of explosions in far corners of the engine room. The chemical cloud overwhelmed him by the time he was past the second sub-junction. He ripped the respirator from the face of a dead crewman before continuing. "James!" He shouted, his voice weakened and distorted by the respirator. He remained undeterred by the lack of initial response, his vocal cords straining to reach previously untried volumes. "James! JAMES!"

A sound from ahead made him stiffen, senses focused upon the gangway in front of him. His steps quickened in hope, gaining speed until he almost slammed into several bodies.

"SHIT-!"

"Commander Scott! Doctor O'Connell!"

James looked to him, eyes wide in surprise. The Vulcan closed his mouth with a sharp click to stifle the cry that ripped through his throat. Intense emotions and compulsions assailed him, ranging from utter relief, the elation he associated with the completion of a significant achievement, reactions he associated with reacquainting himself with his parents after a long absence, and… pure rage.

"Spock," Doctor O'Connell panted, clearly unwell, cutting through Spock's erratic thoughts and confused feelings, "help Commander Scott. We'll be right behind you," he assured, allowing himself to partially lean on James.

Nodding, Spock took the other arm of the semi-conscious female engineer and matched his steps with Commander Scott. Everything was a blur, his feet hammering the deck as they set a hard fast pace. There was a loud howling and orange emergency lights began flashing, cutting through the thick smoke. Spock glanced up, feet never stopping. Bulkheads slid over the top of them, cutting off the Section 1 of Engineering in preparation for lockdown.

' _Emergency Auto-Lockdown, initiating in two minutes…'_ The computer's voice reminded them patiently.

A shattering explosion went off just above them, causing him to cower low on instinct. The bulkheads to seal off Section 2 started to close. Abruptly, Spock realized that he couldn't hear anything behind them. He snapped his head around, his pace broken. This sent all three stumbling to a stop, the young injured engineer slumping against the commander as she let out a pained groan, pulled in two directions. Mister Scott swore. "Spock, what are ye doing?"

Spock glanced behind at where they had come from to the Chief Engineer, stricken with a staggering panic. He was not used to experiencing fear. He was not used to experiencing panic. Yet in that moment, all those terrible emotions assaulted him. He wanted to explain, to beg, to tell the commander but his tongue was thick in his mouth, all blood draining from his face.

"Come on!" Commander Scott shouted, nodding his head in the direction of the exit. "We're almost home free, lad!"

Spock nodded wordlessly and together, they covered the rest of the distance, grunting and panting. As soon as they had safely delivered the moaning crewwoman into the waiting arms of the medic, he spun back to return. A calloused hand clamped down around his wrist.

"Where de ye think ye going!" The commander demanded, ripping the respirator from Spock's face.

"James–! They're–! But–!" He had never been so lost for words.

' _Auto-lockdown, one minute; fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…'_ The computer informed them, her smooth deep voice relentless.

Something inside of the Vulcan snapped.

With a sharp twist, he wrenched free, momentum sending him stumbling across the threshold to the other side of the airlock seals. Commander Scott howled for him to stop, hands scrabbling for the back of his shirt but Spock evaded him with a swift duck and hurtled back the way they had come from, the last place he had seen James Kirk.

* * *

Montgomery Scott leaped after the Vulcan boy with a cry of despair, but found himself held stationary by the five sets of hands that latched onto him ferociously. Glancing back only for a second, young Spock lifted up his forearm protectively before him and dove into the thick darkening smoke. He struggled desperately against his crew's good intentions, pleas and curses erupting from his mouth. "NO, NO – LEMME GO YOU BLOODY–!"

'… _Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one…'_ The computer droned on.

"The order is given, sir!" Someone pleaded with him.

Scotty howled, struggling and throwing himself side to side to escape. Hatred flared, and he stared accusingly at the strong young men and women holding him prisoner, his beloved crew. He was meant to have protected those lads, kept them safe. And yet, here he stood, safe in auxiliary Engineering, ready to head down to the shuttles, while they were… Scotty renewed his struggles. ' _…Nine… eight… seven…'_ The countdown continued, relentless. An arm wrapped around his neck, wrenching him back from the airlock seals in a painful choke hold. He was roughly wrestled to the floor, kicking and swearing. The seals began to close.

' _Auto-lockdown completed. Initiating Section 1 depressurization…'_

"NO!" Scotty roared. Rearing back on a burst of adrenalin, he jerked his arm up, elbowing and twisting his way free. Launching himself he slammed against the airlock, pounding his fists against the seals as if somehow it would make them open.

"No… No…" He moaned breathlessly, falling over the airlock manual control panel and ripping the metal cover off it, thrust his hand in. Several people tried to pry him away but he shrugged them all off and collapsed on the ground, back to the airlock, expressionless. He wasn't a crying sort of bloke, but God, they were just _wee lads_. He didn't know the little Spock well but Scotty liked James, _James was brilliant_.

' _Warning, warning: all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen… Warning, warning, all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen…'_

Scotty looked up at the young faces still staring at him solemnly. "Whaddeye all looking at? Go on now, get outta here…" Several of them looked at each other, uncertain. "Ye all deaf or something! Can't ye hear the alarms! Go on – scram!" His shout seemed to break the spell over them, and they all turned with mechanical efficiency, gathered the last of the wounded, and disappeared through the hatch. Scotty drew in a shivery breath and got to his feet. His work was done here. Placing his palm flat against the nearest bulkhead, he allowed himself to grieve for the two young boys who would never become the officers he so respected.

"Oh no…" The medic's voice cut through his reverie and Scotty spun to face the woman. She stared at him, terror and shock mingling on her face, tricorder gripped by her hands like she was praying. "They're alive," she breathed roughly, "They're in range–"

Both of them jerked to stare at the airlock in mixed hope and horror as several thumps were heard through the thick metal.

"How long till depressurization commences in Section 3?" She asked, voice trembling.

* * *

The starship shuddered, sending him lurching madly to the right and into the crew traveling in the opposite direction of the stairs, in the _correct direction_ , _towards_ the shuttles. Doctor Leonard McCoy tried to sidestep the collision but ended up shoved into the stairwell railing. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to regain his balance, pushing at the shoulder of the young officer who'd ended up falling into him. He didn't bother with a sorry, just started struggling up the stairs again after his escaped patient. McCoy almost missed the click-chirp of his communicator, but it was still in his hand as he'd been trying desperately to contact the bridge.

"McCoy here!" He shouted, struggling past yet more crew fleeing the ship as ordered, jamming the communicator under his ear.

Static crackled and then, '…Scott here! Doctor, we… medical emergency override! The boys are trapped and… depressur–! We got three minutes before… and then…!'

McCoy shook his head, not really understanding what was happening. "Scotty, I can't understand you! Can you repeat–? Dammit!" He swore vehemently, staggering to a stop on a landing. If it wasn't the battery, it was interference! Suddenly there was an alarmed cry from below and a woman in Operations red tripped into the personnel in front of her, tumbling between their bodies down the stairs to the next landing. McCoy turned, ready to run back down but the crew around her all pitched in to get her back onto her feet. A woman in Science blue slung the fallen woman's arm over her shoulder and together, they continued descending the stairs at a fast pace. McCoy pushed on.

"Sir!" A familiar voice called out. It was Leslie.

"Lieutenant!" McCoy jostled up the final steps to the next landing and grabbed the bridge officer by the shoulder. "Where's the captain?" He demanded, eyes scanning the people behind him, all bridge crew but no Jim. Actually he couldn't see any of the main bridge crew.

"Sent us ahead, sir," Leslie looked like he was itching to protest the orders.

McCoy pushed the man on, "Then get to it!" He flew up the remaining emergency stairs to the bridge, ignoring the burning in his chest and the nagging voice in his head that told him that he needed to get into better shape. The bridge's emergency hatch was open above him, loud voices drifting down to him even through the shuddering booms and shrieks of battle. McCoy climbed as fast as he could.

Jim's growl was instantly recognizable. "I'm still the captain and until–"

A hard voice cut Jim off. "May I remind you, as superior officer, you're–"

"SPOCK–!" Jim broke off from his tirade and swore when he saw the doctor. "Dammit Bones! Not you too! What the hell happened to getting off the goddamn ship when the captain orders a Thirteen?" He snapped, eyes still flashing from the argument that, from the sounds of it, Spock had been winning.

"If you stopped infecting everyone with your brand of crazy, then maybe I'd have an easier time of it." McCoy said mildly, eyes flicking from Jim to his runaway Russian who was back at his usual station, already engrossed in his efforts to keep the ship afloat. "What's going on? Dammit, people, you're supposed to be –!" He went flying before he could finish as the bridge rocked to another explosion, causing instruments to crackle and somehow found himself clinging against the back of the central chair for dear life waiting for gravity to right itself. Jim slammed his hand down on an intercom button. "Bridge to all decks, this is the captain – if you're not on a shuttle, get to hangar three now! Spock, Sulu, Chekov, get Uhura outta here."

The helmsman nodded, taking the lead. All three left the bridge via the emergency hatch. Only Spock remained, ignoring the orders and instead taking the abandoned helm before Jim could make a move towards it. He did something too fast for McCoy to make out but then the main viewscreen started to blink with an insistent message: _AUTO-PILOT ENGAGED_. "Captain, there is no tactical advantaged gained by your continued presence on the bridge after all other crew members have evacuated." The Vulcan's gaze was imploring, "Jim, our auto-pilot program remains fully functional."

Disbelief and anger surged through McCoy as the implication sank in. _Oh HELL NO_!

"The auto-pilot could fail–' Jim was still talking, but McCoy didn't want to hear it. He was a doctor, _dammit_ , but all he seemed to do lately was watch people die, and could not, _would_ not let Jim go without a fight. Without thinking, he seized Jim by the front of his shirt, hauled back, and punched him as hard as he could. The young man slammed into Spock with a grunt and tripped onto the floor.

"What the hell Bones?" Jim cried from his new location at the Vulcan's feet. Spock raised an eyebrow as if to second the question. McCoy just glared at them both shaking his stinging hand. "Someone had to slap the hero out of you. Get up! We're _all_ leaving- NOW."

Just as they reached the emergency hatch, one of the consoles began to chirp insistently. Jim shared a frown with Spock, who leaned to examine the nearest display. "There appear to be two vessels approaching our location at high warp."

McCoy swore under his breath. He opened his mouth to ask Spock if they were still able to warn the poor bastards but was interrupted by the sight of two ships dropping out of warp on the viewscreen. In stunned silence they watched as warning torpedoes lashed out to explode off the _Narada_ 's bow, and the bridge speakers crackled:

' _Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!'_

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

_USS Enterprise: Engineering deck, year 2246_

The gangway lurched roughly to one side then the other under his feet while behind him, part of a railing twisted then snapped under the stress. Inner eyelids closed protectively, Spock ploughed on, oxygen deprivation causing his head to spin. Finding his way to a fallen crewman, he tore the respirator from the dead man's face and pressed it to his own, taking fast hot gulps of air as his eyes flicked left and right searching wildly for James and Doctor O'Connell. _Sub-junction 3D, 3C…_ Spock silently counted. He came to a skittering stop at the obstruction in front of him, a collapsed gangway from Section 2, unsure how to proceed.

"…SPOCK!" A strangled cry made his head snap to the left; _James_ , his insides jumped. The other boy was trapped underneath the twisted metal and scorched plastic. Spock frantically scrambled through the debris and ripped off his respirator, pressing it to the younger boy's face without a second thought. James' hand clung to his own over the mask, throat flexing as he drank in the clean air, eyes wide and shockingly blue in the dim smoky interior. "Doctor," the boy gasped, his breath hissing through the mouthpiece, "dead!"

Forcing himself to withdraw from the boy's desperate grasp, Spock relegated fear to the pit of his stomach and grabbed at the twisted metal with strength he didn't know he had. Trying to help, James pushed, wriggled and tried to roll, never ceasing in his attempts to escape even as involuntary sobs started to shake him, his terrified cries distorted by the mask.

"Spock, Spock, I can't feel my left leg! I don't think–!" The metal shifted. James dropped the respirator and screamed outright, rearing up and twisting helplessly under the metal pinning his leg. The sound of James' pain cut through Spock like a hot blade to his intestines. Feelings he had worked so hard to distance himself from while attending the injured in Sickbay came rushing back, making his knees weak. James' hand clutched at his shoulder, his face in an agonized grimace, his eyes pleading. "Spock," the boy sobbed, "Spock, just get outta here, okay..."

Without conscious thought, his hand found the soft juncture of the boy's neck and shoulder, squeezing down. James slumped over, unconscious. Spock grabbed the respirator for one last deep breath of air, fastened it over the boy's face then focused on the beam pinning James' leg. With a choked cry, Spock pushed against the beam with all his might, sounds muted, his vision blurred, nothing existed for him in that moment save the beam and his need to remove this last obstacle to James' freedom. Every muscle in his body screamed out in protest as slowly the beam began to shift, metal grinding against metal until at last he felt it give. With a final cry and a last burst of energy Spock thrust upwards, freeing James. By working one arm beneath the unconscious boy and wrapping it around his torso, he was able to roughly lever the boy off the floor and brace himself to stand, sliding an arm under James' knees to fully support his weight.

Holding James against his chest, Spock ran as fast as his legs were able. He breathed erratically, alternating between holding and gasping in an attempt to limit his toxin intake but he could still feel the smoke and chemical gases sink into his lungs. The burning, sulfuric sensation coupled with fact that each breath brought not only life-giving oxygen but also death forced him to repeatedly fight back the urge to retch in an attempt to cleanse his system of the poisons. Dread pricked his skin, his arms locked immobile in their positions cradling James' slumped body which seemed to get heavier the closer he got to the airlock seals.

Staggering to a stop and almost collapsing, he set James down harder than he wanted to and tore himself away to bang on the seals. _We're here_ , he wanted to shout, _we're alive!_ Spock fumbled open the door control panel and tried to make sense of it, blunt fingers sliding along the circuit boards. He was looking for an override but his brain refused to cooperate, too frazzled from the chaos pressing at his back and the scarcity of oxygen. His chest pounded with every thump of his fists against the cold hard metal but no one answered. Ship's safety protocols were crucial to the structural integrity of the starship and her crew's survival; they were trapped.

Collapsing to his knees, Spock reached for the unconscious boy, grateful that James couldn't see him so shaken. Air rattled in and out of his scorched lungs, each breath a painful heave; he felt the stretch of every muscle, each expansion and contraction as he forced himself to take in the hot filthy air, fighting for control and reason. The dozen alarms and warning screeches continued on but all Spock could think about was the future he desperately wanted, the starship _Enterprise –_ _James_ _–_ and that this _couldn't_ be the end.

 _Think_ , he silently ordered himself, a strange calm coalescing from the panic boiling his insides. He had come back for James knowing that auto-lockdown was less than a minute away. He had studied the schematics of the ship and there had to be some way, some method… Spock drew up the three-dimensional ship's schematic in his head and examined every corner, all the entrance and exit points to Main Engineering… Thoughts of radiation and human frailty kept intruding, making it difficult to think past getting James to decontamination, to radiation treatments and – Spock snapped up, mentally berating himself for being so slow. The hazards chamber! It was their only chance.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246_

' _Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!'_

Looking at first to Bones then to Spock in speechless wonder, Jim whirled back to the viewscreen just as the first of the _Narada's_ torpedoes shrieked through the barren vacuum to lash across the nearest starship's shields. Gut instinct told him that _that_ would be his mother's ship; even though he couldn't tell what name was emblazoned on the front disc, he knew Winona Kirk would never command from anywhere other than on point. A whistle from the automated communications board made him whip his head around; someone was hailing them directly. A few seconds later, the console whistled again, and this time he dove towards the terminal, slamming his hand down blindly on a section of buttons to put the transmission onto loudspeaker. Behind him, Spock and Bones spread out, taking control of helm and operations.

'… _Pike, captain of the USS Saltash, unknown vessel, do you require assistance…? This is Chris Pike, of the USS Saltash, do you copy?'_

"Yes, target coordinates 1.445 mark 3.17! It's where the shield generators are!"

Instead of the response that he expected, there was a moment of silence and then, ' _Our sensors show life signs and multiple class-2 impulse signatures so I'm going to assume you_ _are either unable to_ _respond or are evacuating. We're going to–'_ there was a muffled explosion in the background, cutting Pike off abruptly.

"DAMMIT!" Jim whirled around to catch the chaos of energy weapons discharge crisscrossing as the two Starfleet vessels feinted in close and then veered off from the _Narada_ , burning lashes occasionally scorching ship hull and sparking along shields. "Status? Dammit, what's their status!"

"Shields at 70 percent and falling," Spock informed him grimly, "Both ships are taking heavy fire and have already diverted all non-essentials into weapons, defense and life support." The Vulcan turned to face him, "Due to their unfamiliarity with the _Narada_ , their attacks are not achieving the optimal effect."

 _But if we could only share our intelligence with them, they would have a chance,_ Jim read in the black wells of Spock's eyes. Bones looked over his shoulder from the other side of the upper deck, his expression furious as if he couldn't believe this was happening. "Ship-to-ship communications is totally out! They hit the main array, Jim, and those backups just won't cut it with this much shooting everywhere!"

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know!" He snapped, popping open the hidden compartment under the console to get at a handheld communicator. The result was the same – too much fucking interference. Slamming it back down, Jim leaped to his feet and grabbed onto the safety rails, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip in frustration. They needed to get communications up, to contact those ships and in the event of defeat, warn others away; he ground his teeth at the thought of letting Nero get away, even at a limp - _there has to be a way!_

"Bones!" Jim's voice was filled with a new determination, frustration melting away into calm focus. "How many crew we still got aboard?"

"Less than two hundred."

It was enough. It had to be. Going to his chair, Jim sat down in one smooth, controlled movement and flicked on the thankfully still enabled ship-wide intercom. "Attention all decks, this is the captain speaking. If anyone is still out there – first of all dammit, what the hell are you still doing here – and secondly…"

* * *

Hikaru Sulu jerked up at the sound of Kirk's voice ringing through the wide expanse of the shuttle bay. Next to him, there were similar reactions from Uhura and Chekov before they all looked at each other, incredulous at what they were hearing: there were other Starfleet ships attacking the _Narada_ , any crewmembers still left on the _Enterprise_ were being recalled to assist in repairs to establish communications and boost power to shields and weapons. The crewmembers that had still been waiting to board the shuttles scattered immediately upon the conclusion of the captain's announcement, heading back to their respective battle stations. '…Any senior officers who are still aboard, please report immediately –'

Dashing to the nearest intercom terminal, Sulu didn't hesitate to answer the bridge summons. "Sulu here, Captain!"

There was a brief pause and then Commander Spock's unmistakable voice piped through the speakers, 'Lieutenant Sulu, what is your present location?' In the background Sulu heard the captain bark an exultant 'Scotty!'

"Shuttle bay 3, sir!"

"Kommander!" Chekov said loudly, accent even thicker than normal, "vhat is going on!"

There was a brief pause and, even with the ship between them, Sulu could almost hear the gears in the Vulcan's head turning. He glanced over at the young Russian who stared back, wide-eyed in anticipation before returning to burning a hole into the intercom terminal. 'Ensign,' the commander said sharply, 'Is Lieutenant Uhura still with you?'

Uhura started at the mention of her name but Chekov answered for her, "Yes, sir! And also Ensign Krout, Lieutenant Commander Shojaei, Doctor–!"

"Understood," the commander cut off the Russian's eager rant with curt politeness. "Lieutenant Sulu, I order you to take the _Hendrik Lorentz_ and establish communication with the two Starfleet vessels engaging Nero; Commodore Kirk is the commanding officer coordinating the attack."

He shared a shocked look with Chekov at the name, and behind them, Uhura gasped in surprise: the only Commodore Kirk in 2246 would have to be their captain's mother, one Commodore Winona Kirk. The helmsman had never met the woman, but she was supposed to be as decorated and renowned as her son, Captain James T. Kirk, though for entirely different reasons. She was involved in Federation mining and colonization projects; specifically, she managed scientific research into local ecological systems and did whatever was required to make an asteroid belt, moon or planet ready for settlers. Sulu's stomach sank because considering her line of work, it was unlikely her ships were outfitted to take on the Romulans. At his silence, the commander continued:

'She is aboard the _USS Douglas_ ; their shields are raised so it is unlikely that you will be able beam aboard. Ensign,' Chekov jumped to attention, 'you and Lieutenant Uhura are both familiar with the information brought back from the _Narada_ ; you are authorized under orders to share that intelligence and formulate a tactical advantage which the two vessels will be technologically capable of exploiting.'

Sulu's first thought was that it was going to be rough flying through a battlefield, his second was a curse and his third line of reflection was a vague shake of the proverbial head at the Temporal Prime Directive being thoroughly screwed then spat on. But this wouldn't be the first time they had broken a few rules to save the galaxy and so he nodded, even though the Vulcan couldn't see it.

"Yes sir –" He said decisively, "– Sulu out!" Then, after sharing a look with Chekov and Uhura, all three broke into a run.

* * *

Doctor Leonard McCoy slammed down the emergency stairs towards Engineering at a dead run, one hand tightly gripping the straps of the three medical kits he'd slung around his torso, his expression caught somewhere between righteous indignation and deep concern. As soon as Jim had announced that the fight was back on, no fewer than fifteen motley groups of engineers in various stages of evacuation checked in with the bridge to report they were returning to duty; _sixty_ _percent_ of the two-hundred odd stragglers were engineers and quite frankly, he wasn't half-surprised. In McCoy's honest opinion, engineers didn't possess the self-preservation God gave a newt; simply put, they were nuts – the whole lot of them – and didn't deserve the effort he put into keeping them kicking.

And to make matters worse, whatever special brand of crazy infects engineers – hell! this whole damn _ship_ – must be catching, 'cause he'd been half way out the door before Jim could even ask him! _Well,_ he supposed philosophically, _someone_ had to make sure they didn't all just keel over from untreated radiation exposure and smoke inhalation – McCoy might know jack all about engineering, but he sure as hell knew his engineers; they made up forty-four percent of all Sickbay admissions, and that was from injuries racked up during simple charting missions! During a crisis like this? There wasn't a chance in hell they didn't need a doctor on hand!

Upon reaching the Engineering decks, McCoy barreled in without announcement and immediately went to work, bullying any petty officers he came across into being assistants. In the middle of the fifth burn treatment, eighth splint and twenty-second shot of hydronalin, he finally spotted the Chief Engineer who was shouting orders left right and centre, pointing at this and that. He made his way over, hypospray in hand but stopped when he saw Scotty's face.

If there was one person on board who was as manic under pressure as Jim Kirk, it was Scotty. Jim might be the captain but it was Scotty who made all of their crazy ideas work, mired in the guts of the starship as he kept the consoles responsive. But instead of a grinning maniac, high on adrenalin, fumes and the sheer joy of being alive, Scotty's face was tight with guilt, his jaw locked and his eyes strangely solemn. It was enough to send a chill through McCoy's guts and kill whatever quip he'd been about to make. Before he could blurt out a question, the Chief Engineer caught sight of him, and his voice faltered for a second before he went back to shouting orders at a group of waiting crewman. McCoy didn't care that his patient wasn't the slightest bit interested in what he was doing; he grabbed the engineer by the arm and gave him a dose of hydronalin.

Scotty grasped the doctor's arm desperately as though he were a lifeline. McCoy tried not to wince at the strong grip and stared fearlessly back, even though his stomach was rebelling in dread. "I'm sorry, Doctor," the man told him in a thin quavering voice, nothing like his usual brash holler; "Jimmy and wee Spock are–" the man swallowed thickly, "I tried, Doctor, but they – I couldn't override the auto-lockdown, I tried but…I lost them in Section 3 but I can't be sure– when the decontamination was over, I didn't see them I'm– I'm sorry," the engineer managed to choke out, and then he practically wrenched away, going back to barking orders and slamming tools.

Leonard McCoy blinked at the space where Scotty used to be, the words not quite making sense. When it finally sank in, he took a deep breath in shock; _Jim Kirk and Spock of Vulcan were dead_. It couldn't be, some part of him argued, unable to accept what that implied for this timeline – that he should never meet Jim Kirk, that he should never meet Spock, that he may never apply to serve on the _Enterprise_ and thus never meet Uhura, or Chekov, or Sulu, or…

The deck underneath him shook slightly, knocking him out of his disturbing thoughts. McCoy schooled his face to determination. There was still a fight going on out there and until it was over, he had to keep moving. He would grieve later, with all the wailing and broken whiskey glasses and despair that those boys deserved. Feeling as though he'd swallowed a slab of stone washed down with a pitcher of vinegar, the Chief Medical Officer fitted a fresh capsule into his hypospray and pressed on.  _  
_

* * *

_USS Saltash, Main Bridge, year 2246_

"INCOMING TORPEDOES!" His weapons officer bellowed.

A second later the shockwave struck. Electricity spewed all over the ship. The bridge of the _Saltash_ lit up like the Fourth of July as the viewscreen was set ablaze with the ensuing explosions against their shields. Chris Pike had the feeling that if he released his grip on the arms of his chair, he'd go spinning. All around him, his crew was hanging on for dear life as the deck pitched with the momentary loss of artificial gravity. Sirens whined and sparks flew everywhere, several people reeled back to escape being zapped; some were not so lucky.

Gritting his teeth, Pike ignored his urge to attend to the wounded but he didn't dare abandon the central seat. He continued to order cover fire for the _Douglas_ , reading Winona's moves as if they were back at the Academy and she was putting him through his chops. A revelation hit him then, squarely between the eyes: why she'd volunteered him for the chair – in a space cockfight like this where constant communication was close to impossible, having two commanders who could read each other meant still being able to coordinate attacks. But still, doubts rested heavily on his mind; how did someone fight something so mysterious, and so utterly impossible!

The sheer size of that thing out there, coupled with the way it was constructed meant that they couldn't get any accurate readings from their scans. Its mass was so immense that the materials would have been more than sufficient for the construction of an entire fleet of the Federation's heavy cruisers, and its shields just wouldn't quit! They couldn't identify the bridge from the ass end of the ship, and dear Lord, the power drain of having something so immense fully shielded, the artificial gravity! The ship was so alien, so far outside the boundaries of his understanding that it was like a cipher, one that he couldn't hope to comprehend without a detailed key.

Pike watched with a mix of admiration and total terror as Winona repeatedly ordered her ship so close that he felt sure they'd collide with the black monstrosity. Each time, her helmsman barely saved the vessel by ducking or spinning in ways that were definitely illegal, maneuvering like a short-distance attack fighter from the Third World War; it made him wonder if Winona made anti-nausea hypo-shots mandatory for all personnel.

A moment later, he wished for that anti-nausea shot himself when the _Saltash_ helmsman followed the _Douglas_ with a move that had to be against the laws of physics with the way it sent the gravity compensators into conniptions. His stomach protested violently even after the ship was righted, but he forced the reaction into submission. On the viewscreen, the monstrous ship that he'd only ever glimpsed in the distorted recordings salvaged from the _Kelvin_ , became nothing but a mass of sharp black tentacles. Suddenly, it released another spread of those fragmenting torpedoes.

"EVASIVE!" He shouted.

The starship rocked and tilted against its own artificial gravity as all systems went haywire. Before he even had a chance to recover, someone shouted, "SIR! The _Douglas_! She's set a collision course!"

* * *

_The Narada: Command Centre, year 2246_

The ship out there looked small and puny as it plunged towards them, plowing through the torpedoes that bombarded it but not without sustaining heavy damages; yet it continued to come at them with undaunted enthusiasm. D'Nal frowned and moved forward to better examine the Federation starship, his eyes, his mind, his sense of survival all focused on that screen. With the unfortunate death of Ayel, he had been made First Officer and it was a responsibility that he took seriously. He had no military training, but he had a keen mind and good instincts, all of which told him that it would be a grave mistake to underestimate Starfleet. They were not the weaklings that they had been long portrayed as being, of this he was certain.

"Back off," he ordered. "Stop!"

Captain Nero whirled from the command chair. "I don't back off!" The man snarled.

D'Nal was unshaken. "Sir, I suggest we do so. Something's going on." Getting a sneer in response, he moved a step in the direction of his temperamental captain, his tone low and imploring. "Captain Nero, they're biding their time and hiding something from us, I'm certain of it."

"Like what?" Captain Nero sneered. "They can't outrun us! Their shields will fail soon! Like the noble sacrificial mules they are, they're trying to destroy us by killing themselves! Well, it's been tried before, it didn't work then, and it won't work now!"

But it had crippled them so badly that they had been captured by the Klingons, the First Officer thought darkly. Here, deep in Federation space, it would surely lead to, if not their death, then to their humiliating capture by the other Starfleet ships that infested the area like vermin. D'Nal wisely kept these thoughts to himself. "But sir," he tried to protest, because no matter how much he loathed the Federation, they were neither weak nor stupid, and wouldn't just roll over like the pirate scum they'd been destroying and salvaging for spare parts.

"ENOUGH!" The other man roared, jumping to his feet. D'Nal backed down, edging away with his head bowed in respect. He skulked back to the command console, resigned. Nostrils flaring, Nero pointed imperiously at the crewwoman manning the weapons console. "Fire everything we've got!"

"Captain Nero!" The man at one of the subsidiary stations called out. "Something's happening! They're– they're doing _something_!"

The Romulan captain turned along with everyone else on the bridge.

"Doing _what_?" He demanded in a growl.

The crewman shook his head in puzzlement then frowned openly. "They've opened their jettison tube…"

Shock breaking on his wide-jawed face, D'Nal darted around to where the crewman was, eyes flying across the ever-changing numbers then snapped up to point at their helmsman and weapons officer, his expression urgent. "Get us cover! Emergency evasive now!"

Catapulting back to his station in the command center, the First Officer twisted his upper body as he hit this button and pushed that lever, all the while shouting orders. Hands on deflector controls that would be useless against what Starfleet had planned for them, D'Nal met his captain's heavy glare with a steady look, so calm he could have passed for a Vulcan. Only his voice revealed any hint of panic, "Sir, brace for impact!"

Nero pulled himself around to sneer at the small Federation vessel that dared to attack, gripping the back of his chair so hard that the material squealed. Instead of sneering, he howled in uncontrollable rage as he realized the horror on the viewscreen. The Federation ship ducked straight down and vanished from view at point-blank range. And in its place – a wall of debris. Barrels, jagged metal, pipes, canisters, broken steel-glass, organic refuse, cracked parts all flew at them at full impulse, fueled by inertia. D'Nal swallowed down his dread; the debris was too close to be repelled by either the deflectors or their navigational shields, and it was moving so fast it would surely tear through the hull.

"Turn!" Captain Nero bellowed. "Evasive! Turn!" He plunged down from his raised dais and grabbed the helmsman by the back of the neck when nothing happened. "TURN, damn you!"

"I am!" The crewman choked. "Can't do it! Can't do it fast enough!"

"Disruptors!" The enraged man abandoned the helmsman and rounded on D'Nal and the weapon's officer, eyes dark and crazed. "Fire the disruptors! Fire! Fire!"

_Crrrraaackckclatatatatat-CRACKKAKA-BOOM! BANG! CRACK!  
_

Bits of junk moving at ninety thousand kilometers per second slammed into the _Narada's_ skeletal hull like needles, puncturing it in dozens of places and completely decimating certain arms. Ship integrity was compromised and as the almost endless redundancies started to kick in, atmospheric compressors fought to save what parts of the ship they could and abandoned the rest to the dead of space, chemical fountains spewed in the vessel's bowels while deadly sparks erupted all over the forward portions of the ship. The bridge began to fill with smoke.

"Fire!" Captain Nero belted out in a furious snarl. "Fire at those bastards!"

The ship tilted upward as though it had been kicked in the underbelly and started to list to the side. The crew shouted while desperately trying to regain some control. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, D'Nal came back to himself, face-down on the cold slimy deck, blood blinding his eyes. He dragged himself from the deflector controls to the weapons panel and did as his captain instructed. His hand fumbled clumsily for the targeting preset, twisted the spray-width to maximum, and slammed his fist down to fire.

* * *

_USS Douglas, Main Bridge, year 2246_

There was a low but audible cheer as their jettisoned refuse hit their target hard, but the moment was cut short by the shouted warning that another torrent of torpedoes was coming at them. The starship was sent tumbling, a powerful shockwave hammering them and sending half the bridge lurching to the right. A chemical fire started on the upper deck of the bridge, issuing out blooms of smoke. Choking and coughing, several officers descended with extinguishers. The figure in the central chair barely spared a glance at the chaos, her eyes riveted on the viewscreen.

"Bring us around!" Commodore Winona Kirk ordered. "Attack Pattern Gamma Six!"

The crew scrambled to comply.

"Commodore!" Communications officer Lieutenant Ayoub shouted over his shoulder, jolted up and down by the lurching of the ship. "Approaching shuttlecraft of unknown origin hailing us on the emergency channels! It's from the vessel that was under attack!"

Winona Kirk spun in the command hair, hair loose and wild, sweat brimming along her severe brows. Her eyes were slim with frustration and there was an edge in her voice when she spoke, "What are they saying?"

"Too much interference for more than basic burst!" He relayed, his voice steady even as the entire ship jolted, and the alien vessel that loomed through the viewscreen bore down on them. "They keep repeating a loop of two words and a changing set of decimal points!" Suddenly his console flashed for his attention, a new set of coded messages showing up. The previous information was still there but it was now supplemented by a new equation of two words and a number. The first word in the pattern was the same – ATTACK – but the second word had changed to COOLANT instead of SHIELDS, and the number provided was once again unique but it was repeated when the code was looped again, while the first decimal linked to SHIELDS was different.

Behind him the commodore was already back in the thick of the battle, ordering evasive maneuvers, attack, feint, deflect, counterattack, retreat and so on. Casualty reports flooded the bridge, and Engineering started sending up dire warnings interspersed with the Chief Engineer threatening the commodore into buying her some time or else. Lieutenant Ayoub realized slowly that these could be considered attack orders, those brisk no-nonsense notes passed during a time when modern warfare was still relegated, confined to light horse brigades and projectile artillery…an idea came to him. Ayoub spun around to face the commodore but before he could speak, that ship out there fired again.

The _Douglas_ rocked violently. The lieutenant pitched and hit his console hard face-first just as he heard Commodore Kirk yell, "INCOMING – EVERYONE BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

_WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!_

"Hull fracture!" Someone shouted over the alarm that was shattering Ayoub's eardrums. "Ninety-six seconds to loss of integrity, two minutes to atmospheric zero!"

Forehead still smarting from the whack, the communications officer spun around madly trying to locate the ominous hsssss from somewhere in the superstructure of the bridge cabin but then someone was hustling him out of his chair and towards the emergency hatch. The First Officer made a sweeping gesture. "Go, go!" The Tellarite growled at the same time as Commodore Kirk yelled, "AUXILIARY BRIDGE!"

The shouts overlapped but it was the same order. The first of the crew dove through it feet first, face pale but determined. Lieutenant Ayoub followed, half-falling down the chute to land in the emergency stairwell. He fumbled his way down the stairs with his fellow officers and heard behind him the commodore's desperate shout for First Officer Diadu when the companionway hatch closed, abandoning anyone still left on the bridge to hard vacuum. Despite the standing orders, Ayoub hesitated and turned back to wait for the commodore.

"What are you doing?" She snapped when she saw him, "Get to your battle station!"

"Commodore," Lieutenant Ayoub said in a rush, following her as she continued on down the steps without even pausing for him, "the message from the shuttlecraft – it was giving us coordinates for an attack on the alien vessel!"

The commodore glanced at him but her pace never slowed as they pounded down the emergency stairs together, distant booms and shakes pushing crew to reach their stations. "You know this how?" She demanded, voice ragged and low.

Pushing away his desire to explain how he arrived at his conclusion, the lieutenant focused on the pertinent details. "The short message is likened to attack orders issued in twentieth century warfare," Ayoub said without hesitation, "The coordinates given were 4.47 mark 2.5, and I seem to remember something from my Intro to Propulsion Engineering…err, well..."

"Well, don't make me tickle it out of you, Lieutenant," the commodore remarked, her manner sardonic, as they reached Deck Six and exited the emergency stairs. "Shoot."

"I believe they gave us coordinates to the alien vessel's coolant system."

"Coolant?"

"Yes sir! If we're only allowed one hit, sir, coolant is probably the best target." At the slight furrow in her brow, Lieutenant Ayoub's earlier certainty faltered slightly. He was no engineer, after all. "Isn't that right? If that ship out there operates in any way like a regular starship, without coolant they can't run anything."

In the middle of Deck Six and a few feet away from the doors to the auxiliary bridge, Commodore Kirk stopped dead in her strides. "Coolant," she whispered then rounded on him with a bark of harsh laughter. Eyes bright, she grabbed his shoulders. "Coolant compressors! Hit those and that'll shut down everything!" Then she paused, face furiously calm as her eyes glittered with the roulette wheel spinning behind them. "Question is… can we shoot through their shields? That's the big question. Those shields bounce our torpedoes as if they were rubber balls– come on, let's get to the bridge!"

Ayoub almost leaped up in a whoop of victory as he scrambled to catch up. Finally! They might have an advantage. "Commodore, there was another code prior! The message was Attack, Shields, and a constantly altering set of –!"

A hard kick from nowhere sent the ship reeling and both of them slammed into the wall as the deck they were on pitched left. Swallowing down his cry of pain, Ayoub felt the malfunctioning gravity pin him there against the wall like he weighed an elephant. It was only a few seconds but when it was over, his heart was pounding so hard it was drowning out all other sounds in his ears and he wanted to be sick.

The commodore swore viciously, charging onto the auxiliary bridge at a sprint. The relocated bridge crew were already at their stations and trying desperately to fight back. By the proximity display on the viewscreen, they were way too close to the alien vessel for comfort. "Get us clear!"

The helmsman gave a curt nod; almost too quickly, the starship dove left with systems compensating for the sudden change in vectors as they screamed straight past the alien vessel upside down. "Decimal points?" She shouted to Ayoub over the chaos as she found the central chair in the smaller, more utilitarian bridge and turned the chair consoles towards her so no sensor reading, no damage report would be missed. "Show me."

"Yes sir!" Lieutenant Ayoub dashed to the communications terminal and plugged commands in at lightning speed then looked over to see if Commodore Kirk had gotten the relay. She was already engrossed in what he had sent to the central chair console, looking up only to issue new orders as the ship rocked and jerked. Without warning she stood to her full height despite the low ceiling of the auxiliary bridge, her eyes flashing with predatory hunger and righteous fury.

"Set up a variable phaser discharge, starting point frequency 3.2 with a maximum yield of sixteen! Seven points for each variation to hold for five seconds!" She yelled across the bridge, "Target coordinates 4.47 mark 2.5 and fire all weapons on my mark!"

Officers didn't blink at the orders and scrambled to obey them despite the fact they weren't sure what was going on. They'd gotten used to Winona Kirk's leaps of logic, and their faith had never been misplaced before. She slammed a hand down on the arm console and connected to the _Saltash_. "Kirk to Pike!" When she got no response, she gritted her teeth wolfishly and hoped that Pike was paying attention.

"In position!" The helmsman reported.

"Ready, sir–!" The weapons officer never finished. A shattering bang reverberated through the ship and several consoles blew at once, spewing a mass of electricity, chips, plastic and metal.

The commodore slammed into her central chair with a pained grunt but only staggered back up. "NOW!" She bellowed harshly, throat raw, "NOW DAMMIT!"

Thin lines of red lashed out from the bow of the ship as phasers were discharged. They slammed into the alien vessel's shields, simmered there and then plowed past to stab into the black skeletal structure of the monster itself. Flurries of red bolts followed, pounding into the same spot. Soon the _Saltash_ joined the barrage. Orange flames exploded from the ship but were quickly swallowed by the darkness of space.

Winona Kirk took a breath, eyes wide and waited with barely-leashed impatience. It was only four seconds but it felt like an eternity.

"They've stopped firing…" someone announced in shocked disbelief.

A beat later, another officer spun from her station, "Their shields are going down!"

The _Douglas_ ' Chief of Science shook his head, frowning so hard that his bushy brows became one continuous tangle. "I'm reading fluctuations in their entire power grid! They're losing propulsion, shields, everything!"

Victory blended with pure hatred as the commodore glared at the black monster that had haunted her dreams for thirteen long years. It had stolen her husband, the father of her sons, her captain and many of her friends and colleagues. She had lost hope of ever settling the score but now here they were, facing each other. The ball was in her court now… " _Fire_ ," she growled.

The _USS Douglas_ fired.

* * *

 _NCC-1701/3,_ _Hendrik Lorentz_ _, year 2246_

It would not have been possible earlier to defeat the _Narada,_ even with the information they had been provided, but the _Enterprise_ had paved the way by systematically targeting all major systems till the Romulan vessel was forced to continue the fight on redundancies. And now, even those were gone with one decisive blow from the two vessels that fell upon the crippled ship like vicious wolves, phasers whipping across its structure and tearing strips from it.

Sulu watched the viewscreen in grim silence, showing none of the relief he was experiencing. That could come later, when the Romulans were well and truly defeated – and by that he meant when they were space dust. Beside him, Chekov let out a preemptive whoop of joy in Russian and hugged him impulsively with one-arm before jumping up to embrace Uhura. "They did it, they did it!" The accent somehow made the words even more joyous and he had to let out a small grin as the communications officer laughed in utter relief, hugging Chekov back hard.

Before their eyes the _Narada_ buckled against itself in the middle of its desperate scramble to catch the two ships orbiting it. Crystallized air sprayed out as cracks appeared in the black skin of the ship; in some places, the hull started to cave in as if being crushed by an invisible fist. Seams gaped open, and some chambers blew out, disgorging everything inside; metal, liquids, atmosphere and corpses – no distinction was made by the suck of hard vacuum.

"What the–?" Uhura started.

"Right in the middle of a turn!" Sulu said in disbelief at the same time that Chekov stammered, "Ah! Th-the gravity compensation is _gone_!"

What had been a fearsome enemy was being reduced to a demonic nightmare. If Mister Spock were here, he might even have called it a tempest of physics: a ship with its gravity shut down in the middle of a turn, crushed by its own impossible inertia.

Atmosphere sprayed in frozen funnels from a dozen places. Equally drawn and repulsed by the unfolding events, the helmsman watched stoically as the backups desperately tried to save the ship; some funnels puttered and closed off quickly, but others spewed white frozen atmosphere until everything had been drained. It wasn't enough but still, the ship tried to maneuver.

"They cannot, NO!" Chekov stammered, eyes widening, his hand flying across the console and bringing sensor readings back up on their screen. "They have lost their compensators – the ship will tear apart if they move!"

"No navigational shields either," Sulu confirmed grimly.

The Romulan vessel _Narada_ , twisted and deformed into a nightmare version of its former self, heaved for one last breath and slowly, began to unravel… It was over; they had won.


	26. Chapter 26

Winona Kirk was unable to speak for some minutes, staring at the disintegrating ship on the viewscreen, her shoulders hunched as the knowledge that she'd just fought and _defeated_ the men who'd attacked the _Kelvin_ sank into her. It was not disbelief that tensed her muscles, but rather a strange long-hoped for relief that was, for a moment, so overwhelming that her body braced against it instinctively. Around her, the bridge crew continued to work as sweat poured down their faces in the small confines of the auxiliary bridge, monitoring incoming space traffic, coordinating repairs, sending out warnings through subspace directing all traffic to divert, and gathering further intelligence. Her chair arm console beeped insistently, signaling that a report from the Chief Engineer was coming in. To her right, an officer informed her that Captain Pike and the _USS Saltash_ had reported in, moderate damage, full report to be ready in half an hour, and also–

"Commodore, there are forty-nine shuttles coming in at full impulse – they're headed for the vessel which was under attack. ID inconclusive."

Like she had been roused from a trance, Winona took several deep breaths then turned to face the communications officer. "Hail the ship."

"Yes sir," he said, spinning swiftly in his chair to comply. A minute later, he turned back shaking his head. "No response to our hails on any frequency, but scans indicate that their communications array was damaged in the attack so it's possible they cannot reply."

Or they could be just avoiding us, she thought wryly, but she didn't think that was right; this was definitely the vessel that the _Frenzotal_ had identified to them, the starship that had come out of nowhere to draw the alien vessel away. A stupid thing to do, incredibly brave but stupid. They had to know Starfleet would want to speak to them, to thank them if nothing else and she'd be kidding herself if she didn't admit to being curious about the identities of the _Frenzotal_ 's mysterious rescuers. She suspected that those men from the Academy she had been ordered to assist – Starfleet officers apparently _from the future_ sent back in time on a mission by the Department of Temporal Investigations – were involved. And, from the edgy way that Pike had acted after they had spoken to April, she had the feeling that he too either knew, or at the very least suspected their involvement.

Winona Kirk eyed the pale ship on the viewscreen. Were they aboard, "Jim" and that medical doctor "Leonard McCoy"? She supposed anything was possible, even temporal displacement. The man who claimed to be Leonard McCoy did resemble the young intern who officially bore the name to a startling degree, and while she couldn't seem to find their DNA profiling results anywhere on the entire Academy database – _and she had looked_ , using both legal and less legal channels – her gut feeling was that they'd been honest with her. Archer's orders had only confirmed her initial impression of their sincerity if not their legitimacy.

_"Commodore Kirk, don't worry. I'll get him, I promise."_

Winona Kirk frowned, her expression as flat as always as she relived the evening when "Jim" had made that promise; "Jim" who looked so familiar, whose face could have been plucked from her own family album, despite his dark brown hair. From somewhere deep inside, the urge to scream rose up again to choke her. By sheer force of will, she composed herself, eyes boring into the image of the mysterious ship. Her son had been kidnapped, presumed dead after six long months without a trace, lead or hint of his whereabouts, and now… _Jimmy could be aboard that ship._

Standing up decisively, she left the central chair and went to peer over the lieutenant's shoulder. "What about the shuttle, the one that sent you messages?"

Lieutenant Ayoub shrugged, then his hands danced across the panel, bring up a flurry of new information on his screen. "I am not…entirely sure which shuttle sent the message, sir…" He looked at her, "But there is one shuttle that appears to be coordinating the others."

Winona nodded. "Okay, get them on." She waited a beat for the young man to give her the nod before she spoke as if she were addressing the entire Federation Council assembly, or a previously unknown alien race. "This is Commodore Winona Kirk, of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet. I wish to convey Starfleet's and my own personal thanks for your assistance in dealing with the hostile alien vessel. Do you require assistance?"

There was a beat during which it seemed as if the persons on the shuttle were deciding if they were worthy of being responded to and then, a short text message came back.

 _YES,_ it said simply, and almost as an after note: _THANK YOU._

Winona tilted her head to the side, her lips not quite inching their way to a smile. It was a start.

Taking a deep breath and clapping Ayoub on the shoulder, she straightened. "Send them a list of all the spare parts we've got aboard, keep in regular contact, try and see if they're willing to go beyond text – oh, and include medical supplies too." Winona spun to address the rest of the bridge, "How soon can we get the transporters back online?"

One of the people at the Engineering console spun to answer, "Two hours, sir."

She turned back to face the communications officer. "Tell them we'd like to set up a meeting for two hours from now."

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Shuttle Bay 3, year 2246_

Lieutenant Uhura ran down the short flight of steps and hit the hangar deck at a run, her high ponytail almost whipping her in the face as her neck snapped left to right, trying to get her bearings in the immediate chaos. Another incoming shuttle had barely docked before someone hit the release for the hatch and medics were leaping off, followed by crew bearing the injured on pallets. Chekov stumbled down the steps behind her, still unsteady from the blow to the head he had received on the bridge what seemed like hours ago. Sulu grabbed hold of him.

"Get him to a doctor," she ordered over her shoulder and then took off, ignoring the helmsman's shouted "What about you!" as she fought her way through the crowd, aiming for the ladder that would take her straight up to an emergency hatch still open onto the deck above.

"Medical Emergency Class C!" Someone yelled over the din.

Doctor Talleria was already storming towards them on the hangar deck, a handful of medics trailing behind her with a gravity-controlled gurney braced between them. An unknown man was lifted onto the moving pallet and swiftly carried through the crowd that parted obediently to let the medical team pass. Uhura glanced down at the scene of chaos as she reached the intermediate mezzanine; people were already unloading essentials including ration packs from the shuttles. Firmly grabbing a hold of the next series of rungs, she started to climb to the deck above. At the top, without pausing, she found the nearest emergency stairs and continued her ascent.

Locating an intercom, she hit the button to broadcast. "Uhura to bridge."

'Bridge here,' sounded Leslie's familiar voice.

"Lieutenant," she said with a genuine smile, "where's the captain?"

'He and Commander Spock are down in Engineering, helping maintenance. Lieutenant, I'm supposed to hand the conn over to you when–'

"Not now, Leslie, you have the conn," she said, cutting off whatever else he was going to say with a curt, "Uhura out." Spinning, the Chief of Communications headed in the direction of Engineering deck, dodging the crew that was starting to filter through the lower levels.

It took her several minutes of questioning, but she finally found them in one of the maintenance shafts, meters away from one another as they sorted through the power relays, making the necessarily repairs and replacements. Getting down, Uhura crawled in, wincing at the blunt ache of her knees on cold metal. She caught Kirk's voice, rough and slightly raspy, simultaneously addressing Spock and a crewman who was leaning into the maintenance shaft from an entrance further down.

"Is it working now? Spock?"

"Power's back on but still fluctuating a bit, sir."

The Vulcan peered suspiciously at the scanner in his hand. "Captain, the frequency does appear to be asynchronous. Perhaps a diagnostic reset?"

"Yeah, I agree with the commander – but a simple reset should do the trick, sir."

" _Right_ ," Kirk nodded, and bent to his task.

Spock was the first to notice her approach, head swiveling around to face her. "Nyota," he said, obviously surprised to see her.

"Commander," she acknowledged, scanning him for injuries. Finding nothing except a slightly ruffled Vulcan, she turned her attention to Kirk, who was twisting around to face her. The sight of him, sweaty and filthy, almost made her want to smile and embrace him. But she didn't, that could wait.

"Captain," she said, all business, "The _Douglas_ has offered her assistance and will beam over a standard set of microdyne couplers, as well as a brand new Type-4 transtator and anything else we need to get the ship operational. They've contacted Starfleet Command, who will be sending two tug vessels – they'll be here in a day's time. They would like to discuss arrangements in person, in two hours, preferably."

Kirk and Spock exchanged a look that she was all too familiar with. Spock began the barrage first, "We cannot let the commodore, Captain Pike or any member of Starfleet from this timeline aboard the _Enterprise_. Our actions are already in considerable breach of the Temporal Prime Directive."

"We hauled mini-me and you aboard. Isn't that the same?" The captain countered, moving from his crouch at the open power relays to face them fully. "Uhura," he dipped his chin at her, "who's looking to come aboard?"

"Just the commanding officers," she said, eyes flicking between the two men as they communicated in a mix of looks and in Kirk's case, facial expressions that could be interpreted as anything from digestive upset to total befuddlement. If she weren't still panting and shaking from the adrenalin of the battle, she would have been amused. Uhura knew for certain that Kirk and Spock had never met before the academic dishonesty trial and yet sometimes they behaved as if they had been a command team for years. Somehow, in the time it had taken the _Enterprise_ to limp back to Spacedock after the seventh death-defying feat, they'd gone from verbally and physically assaulting one another to reading each other like well-thumbed paperbacks. It had rankled severely at the time, their seemingly instantaneous closeness. It had taken her years, almost her entire time at the Academy, to worm her way into Spock's life and yet here had come Kirk, seemingly the incarnation of every principle Surak warned against and a mutineer to boot, and yet he instantly drew Spock's attention, antagonistic though it sometimes was.

Uhura had _slowly_ gotten used to it. In fact, over time, she had eventually come to be grateful for it when all hell would inevitably break loose on a mission, and by seemingly nothing more than a few hisses, weird looks and eyebrow twitches, Kirk and Spock would be able to formulate a plan. Gradually, it became clear that while their command dynamic was growing, her relationship with Spock wasn't progressing anywhere, it just was and so she had made her peace and promised to stay his friend. Sometimes though, she desperately wanted to know what the hell had happened over there on the _Narada_ that first time; they had beamed off the ship just beginning to tentatively trust one another, and returned as the dynamic duo.

Kirk nodded slowly, eyes still on Spock. "This is just another Article 14, Section 31 situation; we need those parts, and we need to get our counterparts back where they belong, Spock. The solution is clear. Like it or not, we're going to have to come clean with Starfleet."

"Captain, knowledge of future technological developments, even superficially–"

"Considering what's happened here, Spock, I think our attempts to prevent any drastic changes to the timeline were failures, and there were quite a few previews of future technological developments." Kirk pointed out sharply. "Besides, we've got radiation leaks that we don't have the tools or parts to fix, plugging the problem only does so much, and medical supplies would be _really useful_ –"

"Starfleet Regulation 137, Section 3–"

" _Pertains_ to precautions to minimize participation in historical events," Kirk countered, before grimacing, "That regulation doesn't even apply to us and you know it."

The look on Spock's face remained unchanged and there was a long moment of silence. Uhura waited for the decision to come, looking between the men, realizing with incredulity that they had forgotten her presence entirely. Kirk sighed deeply, his eyebrows coming together as he thoughtfully examined at the coiled spanner in his hand. "Time travel is theoretical but not impossible – that wouldn't be news to them, and we can monitor where they go, have a full security escort with them at all times. No poking around, no free looks into the computer's databanks, no tours of the ship, no naming too many names; we've been through this before, remember, Spock, about fifteen years in the future."

The Vulcan raised a familiar eyebrow that made the lieutenant's hackles rise though it wasn't directed at her at all, "We speculated," he said drolly.

"We _discussed_ ," Kirk stated, "right at the beginning when we first got this mission, and I decided that it would be worth the risks." The man shot his First Officer another look before seeming to deflate slightly. "Either way," Kirk shrugged, "we've got no choice. The ship isn't going anywhere and I'd rather not be picked off by some pirate salvagers, or some Romulan who decides that we're just too tasty to pass up, Neutral Zone or not. _That_ , Spock, would be worse than keeping Starfleet at arm's length."

A silent consensus seemed to be reached between the two men, and with a head tilt, Jim Kirk shot her a tired grin. "Set up the meet – advise them to transport directly to Cargo Bay 2, no tricorders or scanners, and let them know we'll have a security detail on them at all times. Oh, and if they dare do a full sensor scan of us, we'll delete all their databanks."

Uhura didn't know how they were supposed to do something like that, but she supposed that Jim Kirk would somehow figure out a way. "Aye, sir," she said with a wry smile, and began to crawl backwards in the direction of the hatch she had entered through.

"Oh, and Nyota," Kirk called out jovially. Nyota Uhura looked up, the low growl warning him to not use that name already on her lips, but the genuine smile on his face stopped her, "You did great."

The praise startled her. It shouldn't have, but it did. She responded to the smile with one of her own, and with a final glance at Spock, slipped out from the maintenance shaft to land on her feet. The ship was still on emergency lighting and injured crew still slumped against the side of corridors, but as she made her way back towards the main bridge, Uhura felt the tension bleed out of her with every step.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Main Engineering, year 2246_

"Doctor!"

Bleary-eyed, Doctor Leonard McCoy turned at the sound someone calling him, and saw a young engineer from the next junction over waving emphatically. Turning back to his current patient, McCoy finished his scan, cleared the young man for duty on the provision that the yahoo have something to eat first and directed him to find one of the people wandering around handing out ration bars. "And if I catch you passing out, you'll be sorry," he warned the crewman with a glower.

The young man grinned at him and mumbled a "Yes, sir" before bounding away like an eager puppy. "Engineers," he muttered under his breath, with the same tone of voice he usually reserved for Vulcans. Getting up from his crouch, McCoy jogged towards the young woman still signaling for him.

"Yes?" He asked, snapping open his tricorder to scan the young woman out of habit. The engineer gave him an exasperated look, making McCoy wonder what he'd done to deserve that kind of attitude, and turned down the gangway with a wave indicating that he should follow.

"Doctor McCoy, did you put anything in the hazards chamber between junction 3E and F?"

"Hazards chamber? No. Why? You got some radioactive junk you need to throw in there?"

"It's locked, sir." The engineer said tersely, neatly side-stepping another crewman who muttered an apology for almost running into them, "We've been trying to get it open for twenty minutes, but short of a medical override or cutting it open, it doesn't look hopeful – and we'd like to avoid laser-cutters, sir, since we do want to use it."

Hazards chambers were small multi-purpose spaces that were hermetically-sealed and ran on their own environmental systems, shielded against just about every-type of radiation or corrosive known to the 'Fleet. They were meant to be used as storage spaces for biological samples that needed specific environmental conditions, and as the engineering term for the devices suggested, they could be used to contain reactive and dangerous substances. Engineering, the Science department and Medical were the primary users of these devices, but considering they had just been in a battle, McCoy couldn't imagine anyone having the time to run an experiment… "Have you scanned for what's behind the bulkhead?"

The young woman nodded, "Yes, but that thing is built like a puzzle box and the scanners I work with are the Mark II tricorders – we're not exactly exploring the great unknown down here in Engineering, sir."

As they turned another corner, McCoy was able to easily make out where the hazards chamber was from the small group of engineers who had gathered around it. They moved to the side out of caution when they saw him approach, and he gave them each the eye, wondering which of them was handling dangerous materials. The hazards chamber was sealed with a lock-down protocol, and it took him a moment to realize it was a Class-H medical authorization code.

"Huh," he huffed under his breath in surprise, more to himself that anyone else. That environmental setting wasn't often used, primarily because it enforced the optimal oxygen and temperature requirements for a humanoid infant and there weren't a lot of babies floating around in space needing tender loving care. Out of nowhere, his stomach clenched as a thought occurred to him.

The engineer who had solicited his assistance looked to him hopefully, "Well, sir…? Can you get it open?"

Holding up the tricorder in his shaking hands, McCoy did a lifesigns and organic matter scan in the anticipatory silence as the gathered crew tried to peer over his shoulder, mumbling impatiently. The results that came up forced him to swallow hard past the lump in his throat. "Get Scotty," he croaked, not caring that he was using the man's nickname in front of a bunch of his subordinates. The same young woman that had waved him over shot him a confused look and disappeared to bring the Chief Engineer, but McCoy couldn't wait any longer. He tapped his medical override code hurriedly into the hatch panel. "Open it!" He ordered, stumbling back out of the way, " _Quickly_!"

The engineers scrambled to comply, wrenching the hatch of the hazards chamber open.

McCoy inhaled sharply.

A single yellow utility flashlight shone down on the interior of the hatch from where it had been taped to the wall, giving just enough illumination for him to make out two slender forms, curled together like newborns. The faint blood smeared hand prints on the walls broke the illusion of what might have been a peaceful scene. The doctor in him noted the smell of sodden bloodied bandages, the unnatural layer of dampness over the Vulcan boy's skin and the ragged bandages around the right thigh of the other boy. The parent in him focused on the slight shivers and twitches that signaled fever aches, and the emptied capsules of hydronalin. A hush fell over the gathered crew.

"Are they…?" One of the bystanders asked, his voice almost a whisper.

McCoy shook his head, wishing he could find the words. Suddenly someone shoved through the crowd and slammed right into him, jolting him out of his revelry. "Are they-?" Scotty asked, looking to him desperately.

"They're just sleeping." He murmured in disbelief, and started to laugh under his breath.

Like the big baby McCoy always knew he was, Scotty burst into tears.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Captain's Quarters, year 2246_

Jim Kirk winced as he gingerly touched the shallow cut he'd received on the cheek, somehow, in the course of the battle. He couldn't even remember how or when he had gotten injured, though he swore that there hadn't been a cut there when Bones had stormed onto the bridge. If there had been, Bones would have healed it and given him lip while doing it. Abruptly, his door swished open, admitting Spock.

"Spock," He greeted distractedly as he finished smoothing the small adhesive bandage in place. It would do, until this damn meeting was over.

"Captain, Commodore Kirk and Captain Pike are due to arrive in less than four minutes."

"Right," Jim nodded, meeting the Vulcan's eyes in the mirror with a grin, "mustn't keep a lady waiting."

Together, they exited and headed for the emergency staircase. Like himself, his First Officer had changed out of his soiled Science-blue uniform and into a plain black ensemble of undershirt, and regulation pants and boots. A full team of security personnel fell into step behind them, also out of uniform. It had been decided that no one should wear their uniforms for the time being, though how that would help protect the future, Jim didn't know. It seemed less confrontational, he supposed; it was one thing to deal with Starfleet members from the future, it was another to see them wearing uniforms that had just been recently approved and weren't in production yet.

Right on time, the lights of the transporter beam danced and crackled in the emptied cargo bay before solidifying into two humanoid figures. Jim stood very still for a second or so, regarding Winona Kirk. The last time they had met, it had been a total surprise; his mind had been on the logistics on the mission, and he'd been too conflicted between his desire to assure her and the need to keep his identity secret to take the time to really look at her. Then later, during their escape from Starfleet Security, it had been dark and too chaotic for them to do more than size each other up in brief. Now as they stood together in the light, Jim took in the sight of her as if she were a stranger, like someone he'd been briefed on but never met in person. He realized with a shock that he was taller than her by half a head and that their eyebrows and noses were eerily similar. Her hair was swept up, he noticed, in a neat twist behind her head, and there was a bandage peeking out from the neck of her uniform shirt, but she still carried herself like a banner, one knee cocked. Winona Kirk spun as she fully materialized to face him, and–

"Permission to come aboard," she said as soon as she saw him, without even a surprised pause. Jim felt envious of her ease, which his mom had carried herself with for as long as he could remember. They looked at one another, her eyes boring into him.

Jim felt his mouth go dry and a slightly hysterical laugh bubble up from somewhere inside his guts, which were still knotted in anxiety. There was almost a gleam of satisfaction in the way she assessed him, like she had won a bet. He wouldn't be surprised if she had, he thought, belatedly realizing that he hadn't bothered to darken his hair for the meeting like he had for visiting Riverside.

"Permission granted," Jim said, stepping forward. Spock paced him, and automatically she gave Spock a similar examination, with an extra elevation of her eyebrows as she took in his Vulcanoid features. "Welcome aboard," he added, biting off the rest of the iconic phrase with a rueful half-smile in Commander Pike's direction – _no_ , Jim's smile widened, it was _Captain_ Pike now wasn't it?

The man returned his regard with a familiar smile, his expression caught between consternation and pleased astonishment. "Jim."

He broke into a broad grin. "It's good to see you both."

"This ship," Pike's eyes flicked from right to left and back again, "Is she what I think–?"

" _Yeah_ ," Jim rolled his eyes, "Spoilers."

He felt Spock's tension bleed through the fabric of his shirt, the Vulcan practically rigid as he held himself at attention. "Under Starfleet Regulation 133, Section 1 to–" his First Officer began to recite but Jim cut him off.

"Thank you, I'm sure Commodore Kirk and Captain Pike know the regulations," he said quickly, shooting Spock a look when the Vulcan wagged that impressive brow at him. "May we go somewhere we can talk? As nice as the cargo bay is, it's not exactly the appropriate place."

The two visiting officers glanced at one another. "Sure," Pike said slowly, taking out his communicator. "Is this where you want your supplies?"

"Yes," Jim looked to Spock for directions. "Number One?" he said, not quite liking the way the phrase fit in his mouth despite the fact that he knew they shouldn't use names unless absolutely necessary. The Vulcan nodded and went to the older man, their heads bent as they coordinated the transport. He mentally braced himself as Winona Kirk closed the distance between them.

"Last time we spoke," she began without preamble, "you promised me that you would find my son – did you keep your promise?"

It was strange, Jim decided, being addressed by his mom as if he was a stranger, or her opponent. He was seeing things about her, things in her, that he had never seen before. Sensing her apprehension, he breathed, "Yes."

Her eyes darkened with emotion, but her expression remained business-like. "Well?"

Jim studied her restraint, which was more familiar to him, compared to the way she had looked back at the diner in Riverside, shaking in the wildness of her emotions. "He's alive…" he said gently, watching as her entire body seemed to relax slightly, "but injured."

The shadow at her throat bobbed as his words sank in, and she nodded quickly, resolved. Jim fought his own response as he recognized her expression; what he had always seen as her impatience and disinterest as a child, was nothing more than her putting on a face. He _knew_ that look, because dammit, _that was his look_. Suddenly, she looked over to Pike but not before he caught the glimmer of wetness in her eyes. When she faced him again, it had been blinked away.

"I would like to see him."

It was phrased as a request, but it was really an order. This was not the mother mourning her child, the woman he'd met at the diner, or even the stranger that blew into his life occasionally, but Commodore Kirk, in command of herself and everything around her.

Nearby, there was the crackle and shimmer of the transporter beam, which darkened and solidified into several stacks of standard Federation cargo boxes, as well as a large crate bearing the logo of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. They both ignored Pike, who advised them that the transport was complete.

Holding her gaze, Jim addressed the security detail. "Escort Commodore Kirk and Captain Pike to Sickbay, let Doctor McCoy know that we'll be making a visit."

He didn't wait for acknowledgement of his orders before gesturing for her to precede him. She stepped past, Pike following after with an uneasy glance.

"This way, sirs," he heard an officer say, leading both visitors out of the cargo bay and down the hallway.

He didn't follow. Spock came to a stop next to him.

"Jim," the Vulcan murmured, his voice private and low, "are you distressed?"

He considered it for a moment. The woman who was and wasn't his mother had nearly cried in front of him, not once but twice, because he, _not him_ , but a younger Jim Kirk had been found alive. In all the years that Jim had been around her, the only two times he remembered her crying was when Sam had caught a rare strain of Vulcan flu and the prognosis had been bad, and when she had come to pick him up from the rehabilitation centre after Tarsus IV. "I'm fine, Commander," he said curtly.

Spock twitched imperceptibly, a reaction too small to catch unless one knew to look for it. Slightly ashamed of his sharp tone, Jim met the man's gaze, an apology in his eyes, "Spock, just…promise me you'll get us home? This place… _we don't belong here_."

They shared a look of understanding. Just as this Winona Kirk wasn't his mom, the Amanda Grayson that Spock had encountered on Vulcan wasn't truly his mother, no matter how similar they were to the women that both men had known. They were out of sync with this universe; they didn't belong here, anymore than Nero had.

Spock's eyes probed his face carefully. "I will try."

Jim studied the man's dark eyes, so earnest and intent. He had to smile because Spock's word was as good as a promise. He wanted to reach up, cup Spock's face and kiss him, not the lust-filled kisses they had shared that night or even a desperate kiss before battle, but in relief and gratitude, the kind of kiss he would give a dear friend. His mother had taught him that kisses were good for the soul, and he'd believed that, always, even after she had stopped. Just as Jim leaned in a chattering group of technicians passed the cargo bay doors, breaking the moment.

He let his hand fall back down by his side, "Get Scotty to send some guys down to pick this stuff up."

"Done, sir," Spock replied evenly, with an undertone for him that made it clear the Vulcan thought he shouldn't have even have had to ask.

Jim Kirk grinned. "Come on, let's go catch up to our guests."

He led the way down the corridor and up the emergency stairs to Sickbay, Spock easily keeping pace with him. He didn't understand where the impulse came from but he reached out for Spock, his fingers curling open as if he'd grab hold of the man's wrist and instead missed, skimming along the length of the Vulcan's forearm instead. Spock returned the touch, skimming his fingers over Jim's knuckles. They separated once they reached the corridor that lead to Sickbay, nodding to the crew that greeted them periodically, all dressed in black undershirt and pants. _Black_ , Jim realized belatedly with a start, due to his orders the entire ship now wore black; it was like they were in mourning.

The scene that greeted them upon entering the darkened Sickbay was that of Winona Kirk's body flung over Jimmy's inert form in an embrace, her hand tracing the planes of his face as if she needed proof. The boy was awake, though just barely, lips moving silently to form words too quiet for anyone except his mother to hear. She nodded occasionally and whispered back, tenderly stroking fingers through the boy's hair as she did. Jim averted his eyes, unable to watch. He couldn't remember the last time that he and his mother had hugged like that…in fact, he was pretty sure that the last time she had tried, he had pushed her away, hurt her.

A touch on his arm sent awareness coursing through him like an electric shock, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Captain," Spock whispered, "a moment?"

Jim cast another glance at the scene; Pike was speaking quietly with Nurse Chapel, glancing several times with undisguised puzzlement at young Spock who occupied the bed next to Jimmy, while the commodore was still focused on her son. He quickly averted his eyes again as he saw Winona Kirk lean in to kiss Jimmy on the forehead, murmuring something under her breath. The young captain nodded; yeah, they would have a few minutes yet before anyone was ready to get down to business, and honestly, he could use the space; for some reason, he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe.

Spock led him into a nearby vacant doctor's office. The door had hardly swished close before Jim stumbled over to the desk and leaned on it, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.

" _Thank you_ ," he said, because watching that entire scene had been weirder than he expected, despite having thought he had prepared himself. Quietly, he responded to the unasked question in his Exec's eyes, "My mother and I… we haven't, that is to say, we don't do that… hug I mean," he shrugged vaguely, not really wanting to explain further.

Spock nodded in his usual brusque manner, but there was a sympathetic glimmer in his eyes.

Jim looked away, slightly embarrassed at his composure being so rattled, and sighed, "But I'm fine. Really, Spock – I'm fine, honest." Smiling faintly, he met the half-Vulcan's unwavering gaze. He didn't say anything to disagree with Jim, but the slightest arch of his right eyebrow showed that he didn't quite believe him either. Jim exhaled between his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, not exactly sure how to phrase it. "It's just… slightly weird."

The Vulcan nodded. "While I would debate the appropriateness of your word choice, the sentiment is understandable; temporal displacement leading to interactions with oneself is not part of the Academy's current curriculum," Spock pointed out, a touch of dry humor in his voice, as if perhaps he felt that recent events might call for a reevaluation of that oversight.

Jim's mouth segued into a grin. "No, it isn't," he agreed in the same quiet tone of voice, feeling the tumultuous emotions stirred up by watching his own young self with his not-mother drain away under his amusement at Spock's remark. "After we get this sorted out, you feel up to a game of chess?"

Considering what they had gone through, what the ship had gone through, and how much work there was left to be done, chess should have been the last thing on his mind, but Spock understood what he was really asking for: time to decompress finally, just the two of them.

"That would be agreeable."

The door swished open, admitting Pike, "Captain."

Glancing behind him as if he might be overheard, Pike lowered his voice, "I think your doctor is going to have a conniption if we don't clear out."

"Ah, _right_." Jim grinned. It was good to know that even when life was _utterly bizarre_ , he could at least count on Bones to be running true to form. Exiting the office, he looked across the ward to where Jimmy Kirk was. Instead of Winona Kirk, it was young Spock who was now keeping the boy company, their beds having been moved flush up against one another at some point in the last few minutes judging by Chapel's frantic efforts to check all the monitors. From how Bones was furiously hissing at the commodore and her hushed snaps back, she had made the move. Probably at Jimmy's request, Jim realized, with a glance over at Spock, remembering their chat about how both boys were a little too attached to be healthy. Having come to some sort of agreement, not in Bones' favor by the dark glower he wore, the commodore made a bee-line for Jim.

Winona Kirk cocked her head to the side, nothing in her face to suggest that she had just won an argument over what was better for a patient against the bossiest doctor that Jim had ever met. "I believe you mentioned wanting to talk."

The young captain nodded all-business now. "Yes, we have a conference room set up."

When the woman didn't move at the sound of the security detail calling for her to come this way, Jim Kirk gave her a questioning look. Her gaze made him swallow hastily, as emotions slugged him in the guts. _She knew, she knew exactly_ _who_ _he was and –_ Winona Kirk walked past him, following the security detail with Pike hurrying to keep pace.

Jim didn't know he had been holding his breath until Bones clapped him on the back, startling it out of him. "Hang in there, Jim; it's a crazy situation for everyone."

"Yeah…" he said, then silently added, _for some, more than others,_ and followed Spock out of Sickbay.

* * *

_Captain's Log, Stardate 2246.7.55_

_According to Commodore Winona Kirk,_ _tensions_ _between the Romulan Empire and the Federation are once again easing. It seems that having our battle a mere thirty light years from the Neutral Zone caught the attention of the Romulan Fleet's long-range sensors – and while the Romulans are not going to admit that they've been spying, they have been quick to agree that there will be no fighting. Despite our unwillingness to share further information, Starfleet_ _has agreed_ _that our actions directly assisted in averting what could have been a_ _lengthy,_ _bloody conflict, and we have been unofficially commended for our actions._

 _We suspect that there will not be much activity along the Neutral Zone for the next few months, as the Romulans try to figure out the events which transpired today. This could be positive, or it could incite the Romulans to another attack if they arrive at the wrong conclusion. The need to keep our identities and our mission secret has never been greater – we don't know the stance of the Romulan Senate on time travel, but I don't think they'll take kindly to our presence, even if Starfleet won't break its own policy regarding time travelers from the future and take advantage of what technical knowledge we could offer. While I'd like to think otherwise, we cannot be certain that the Romulans would employ the same_ _circumspection_ _if an advanced Romulan Fleet vessel were to arrive from their future._

 _In light of our situation, the Enterprise and all of her crew have been granted provisional protection status by, officially speaking, Starfleet Command, but off the records, the orders are directly from the Archer Division_ _of_ _the Department of Temporal Investigations. Currently, we are being towed to the_ 40 Eridani A Starfleet Construction Yard _, where the ship will be quarantined._ _We'll_ _be able to work on the vessel from there at our leisure; Lt. Commander Scott advises me that the engines are being held together by saliva and fervent prayer._

 _The Vulcan_ _Council_ _has kindly offered their hospitality, so we may stay near the Enterprise_ _. While_ _I am uncertain of all the arrangements or what stories were told regarding the mysteriousness of our arrival and origins, it appears that we will be guests of the government itself. They plan to_ _have_ _us all_ _declared_ _refugees under the Sentient Persons Act._

 _Though I am aware of the wide-reached effects of our actions here in the past, thereby wiping out the events that lead to the Battle of Vulcan_ _in our timeline_ _and starting a new chain of events, if Starfleet Command of either this time or our own were to analyze our actions, I believe that they will find that it was unavoidable. The crew has served admirably under difficult circumstances, and I_ _believe that I_ _speak for everyone when I say that the upcoming downtime is greatly anticipated, despite anxieties regarding our future_ _s_ _and where we might end up, or more to the point, **when** we might end up_ _._

_On that note, I am lodging special commendations for the following personnel: Commander Spock, Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott, Lt. Nyota Uhura, Lt. Hikaru Sulu, Ensign Pavel Chekov, Ensign Angela Martine, Lt. Miko Tamura, Lt. Edward Leslie, Lt. Bill Hadley, Lt. Commander Roger Lemli, and many more (see attached A)._

* * *

_Captain's Log Supplemental_

_Arrangements have been made for our two young guests, who are due to_ _disembark_ _upon our arrival in the Vulcan system. Both boys will be transferred to the Vulcan vessel_ T'Para _, where Ambassador Sarek and his wife will be waiting for their son. Additional passenger transfers to the T'Para will include all_ _those_ _personnel in critical condition that require extra assistance, which we are not equipped to offer – Chief Medical Officer McCoy has put Doctor Talleria in charge of the_ _transfers, and she_ _will be accompanying our injured crewmembers. I have been assured that_ _they will receive_ _the best possible treatment from the physicians of the Vulcan Academy Hospital._

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Sickbay, year 2246_

Spock woke up slowly, coming to consciousness in the dim night illumination of Sickbay. His head ached terribly; it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, and his hands hurt. He tried to get up but found that he barely had the strength to lift his head. Trying to roll onto his side made him gasp for air, and a moment later, Nurse Chapel was at his side. She made him stay flat upon the medical bed.

"What happened?" His voice came out a hoarse croak. He tried to clear his throat and found he couldn't. "Why–?" He rasped, reaching up for his mouth but found something in the way. Nurse Chapel stopped him from pulling on it.

"It's okay; you're wearing a breathing aid. The oxygen dries your throat," the nurse said. "It will go away.'

Spock nodded, understanding, but– "Thirsty," he whispered.

She nodded, and somehow managed to get the mask off him. She gently pressed the soft lip of a water pouch opening to his lips so he could take a sip of water.

"How–?" He started to ask, his last memory was of dragging James' unconscious body into the chamber and setting up the medical lock, trusting his memory of Doctor McCoy's induction training. He'd bandaged the unconscious boy's leg as best he could, with just the flashlight, a few rolls of archaic gauze and some adhesive tape. James had been moaning in pain, so he had used what little neuropressure he knew to ease the boy into a deeper sleep before collapsing himself, out of breath, his lungs burning. Now, fumbling along his own torso, Spock noted that he felt nothing except a distant pain and heavy exhaustion.

"We found you," she smiled comfortingly, taking his hands and gently pulling them away from his chest. "You're doing fine; everything's going to be all right."

He ignored her and tried to touch the sore spot in the middle of his chest, but his hands were clumsy and desensitized, covered in pseudoskin to accelerate his healing. Spock was surprised by the injury; by the time he had gotten both James and himself to safety, his hands had been so mired with James' blood that everything had been red and – Spock flinched and Nurse Chapel looked up from the datapad she was examining.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"James…?" Spock licked his cracked lips, "Is he…?"

The nurse smiled, "Look for yourself, he's just to your right."

He turned his stiff neck in the direction she had nodded. James was laying on his side, his face far closer than he had expected. Spock could see that the cuts on his face were already half-healed from the regenerator. Someone had authorized the medical beds to be pushed together so there was only a hand span between them. There was pseudoskin over the knuckles of the hand James had flung out in front of him, clutching the pillow, but otherwise he appeared well.

"His leg?"

"You did a fine job of stopping the bleeding," Nurse Chapel said, fussing over him. He took the medicated citrus lozenge she gave him, packed with synthesized nutrients made to dissolve in his mouth, and watched as the breathing aid was put on standby mode in case he should need it. He was told to relax and breathe deeply while she consulted with the doctor regarding liquids and some sustenance for him. Spock nodded at the expected intervals, and the nurse left with a promise to be back.

Once alone, he immediately turned to face James and lowered the bed rails between them. His hand trembling, the young Vulcan reached out and very gently touched the other boy's bright hair, washed copper by the low light. James did not stir but illogically, Spock felt a rush of almost terrifying joy from the small contact. Assured his friend would be well, he dropped his hand down to rest near James' and drifted into an exhausted state between sleep and consciousness. Behind his eyelids, Spock imagined the gleaming consoles of the bridge, the bent heads of the crew busy at work, the darkening of the lights, the flash of the red alerts; he saw the images of his older self, the commander, and James' counterpart, Captain Kirk, up there fighting against some foe, unafraid and _strong_. One day, that would be them, he thought with an entirely too Human sigh. Immediately though, he realized how illogical it was to believe that events would transpire in the same manner; he didn't know if James would even _want_ to attend Starfleet _with him_ – Spock bit his lower lip, feeling foolish.

A light touch on the back of his hand and a psychic tug startled him out of his thoughts. The Vulcan's eyes snapped open to the sight of James, peering at him. "Hey," the other boy whispered.

"Hello," Spock replied, just as softly.

"Been awake long…?"

"I am unable to tell."

That drew a weak smile from James. It was very tempting to return the gesture, but Spock found that he couldn't be certain his facial muscles could correctly mimic the smile. Instead, he tentatively took James' hand and was rewarded with the other boy's fingers curling with his own. If he were not so unwell, he would have blushed; though it was a common gesture of friendship among Humans, to Spock it seemed so…forward. Squirming to the edge of the bed, James gestured for him to come closer. "Come 'ere," he murmured.

Spock leaned over the small gap between their beds. There was precedence, yet it surprised him anyway when James leaned in slightly and pressed their lips together. The light kiss surged though him like liquid warmth, a glorious sensation he had no words for except to categorize it as the effects of dopamine and serotonin, words that utterly failed to do justice to the sensations that blanketed him. Spock returned the kiss with equal gentleness and fervency, buoyant on the utter joy of being alive, that James was alive.

Their dry lips unglued with a light smack and a little bit of discomfort but it made the other boy snicker. "For being kind of awesome…" James murmured drowsily against his mouth, unfocused eyes studying him.

Spock shifted back and dropped his head back onto his pillow, already exhausted from the small movement, but kept their hands linked.

"Later…?"

"Yes…" he whispered. Spock waited for James to fall asleep, watching and listening intently as the other boy's breathing deepened and evened out, before closing his eyes to follow.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Deck 6, year 2246_

Much later that night or early the next day, depending on one's perspective, Jim Kirk silently walked through the dim corridors of the _Enterprise_. With the crisis over and the ship in a Starfleet tug's tractor-beam, he and most of the other crew were free from their mantles of responsibility. The corridors were utterly empty, except for the crew members who had volunteered to remain on duty, battling their own weariness. When he reached his destination, the stasis room, he paused, reluctant to enter. He had been here before, many times actually since he first accepted his commission as Captain of the _Enterprise_ , but each time always felt like the first. Finally, Jim drew a deep breath and went into the darkness.

Bones had given him the rundown; three-hundred and sixty-seven injured… ninety-two in critical condition… forty-three dead. Not such a large number all things considered, not compared to some of the losses suffered against the Klingons during border disputes, but in Jim's opinion, the cost would always be too high. The stasis boxes, all forty-three of them, radiated the eerie glow that signaled they were in use. The sight sent a faint shudder through Jim that had nothing to do with being around the dead and everything to do with doubt; had he issued the right orders, made sound decisions; ultimately, had he done everything he could? Protected within the carefully-modulated atmospheric conditions inside the capsules, the bodies of all the people who had died on this mission waited patiently to be taken home.

 _Home_ … That thought sent a shiver of uncertainty crackling down his spine. In a few weeks time, after the dust settled, Spock would rally his team to speculate upon the implications of their actions in creating an alternate timeline, and whether or not it would be possible to ever return to their reality. For now… For now, the crew were content with having a bed to sleep in, medical care, food, company, and a ship which was no longer in any pressing danger.

The deceased didn't need to be watched, but Jim Kirk didn't know what else to do to express that what these people had done really mattered to him, that he'd remember them, that he was grateful. Jim hoped that at least one of them had heard the announcement that Nero had been defeated before they had died, to have known that their sacrifice was meaningful. Standing in the dimness, Jim let his thoughts wander. He was just musing on the upcoming reunion between young Spock and his parents when the door swished open, making him back against the wall reflexively to avoid being seen.

He had hoped whoever was at the door was just passing by and would soon go away, since it was decidedly outside of typical visiting hours for the stasis room, but the silhouetted figure remained there, shoulders hunched. The intruder gradually wandered far enough inside the room that he was able to make out the man's face – it was Scotty, his expression somber and serious to a degree that Jim had rarely witnessed. The door closed once the engineer cleared the range of its sensors, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. Jim stepped out from the wall into the glow of one of the boxes.

"Scotty," he greeted the man quietly, not wanting to startle him.

Despite his good intentions, the Chief Engineer visibly jumped at the sound of his name, and he whipped around to stare wide-eyed at his captain. "Mother a' God, Captain!" Scotty exclaimed in a hiss of incredulity, fist on his chest. " _What_ are you hanging around here in the dark for? Warn a man!"

Jim broke out into a smile, and for a moment, the two of them just looked at each other and laughed quietly. He dipped his chin in disapproval, "Hey, shouldn't you be resting, mister?"

Scotty's response was to eye him from head to toe as if Jim were a young street urchin in violation of his curfew, and say in a fond tone, "Could say the same of you, sir."

Jim was going to say something smart, but he could see that Scotty's attention was already on the other occupants of the room. The Chief Engineer wandered through the maze of stasis boxes, looking over each one, stopping at some of them to examine the name plaque as if he couldn't quite believe it. Jim did this as a ritual, coming down here to spend five minutes with the boxes post-missions, but this wouldn't be the first time Scotty was also present. Twenty-nine engineers had lost their lives to complete their latest mission; it was a proportionately high number, too high.

Finally, after a full survey of the room, Scotty took a shuddering breath and looked to him, face red with suppressed emotions. "They stayed at their posts– when everyone else was already starting to run – even after they had their evacuation orders, they stayed at their posts until the last possible moment…"

Putting on his best captain's face, Jim met the man's gaze. He wouldn't say that it had been their duty, that they did the right thing, because that was crap. Taking oaths to protect, to fight, to act honorably and control one's fear was easy to do in the face of a Starfleet assembly, and almost impossible with the Klingons breathing down your back and people depending on you. That was the point of the Kobayashi Maru test. It took a lot more than guts and an oath. Jim knew without a doubt that if Scotty's people, those deceased and those still alive, hadn't stayed at their posts, they'd _all_ be space dust by now.

"I know." He said simply.

Wandering over to one of the nearby couches set up for mourners, Scotty sat down heavily and from seemingly nowhere, drew out a battered flask, taking a quick swig. The sight reminded Jim immediately of the first time he'd met Bones – it seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd cockily told Captain Pike that he'd swing through the Academy's officer program in three years, walked down the steps of the Academy main assembly hall to confront Spock, and then made that same walk to accept his commendation and captaincy. It was terrifying to think that so much could happen in these six years, from taking Pike's challenge to now, standing here, in the stasis room with his Chief Engineer, in an alternate universe.

The sound of liquid sloshing drew him back to the present. Scotty shook the flask at him, waiting. Jim went over, took the offered flask and dropped down next to the man. He had a small sip and savored it.

"Captain," Scotty began after he handed the flask back, "was it worth it, ye think?"

Jim considered the question seriously. Whether this was their world or not, whether they were stuck here or not, this was a reality where the Vulcan homeworld remained intact, its six billion residents were alive, where a whole graduating class had not lost their lives. In return, several starbases and ships had been attacked, some destroyed with all hands lost. Was that exchange fair?

"It will be," he said, with more certainty than he felt. Jim dredged up those increasingly fleeting images that Ambassador Spock had given him, of the young Vulcans who would join Starfleet; by the twenty-fourth century, the call of Starfleet would be a call that Vulcans proudly answered, drawing as many of their best and brightest as the Vulcan Science Academy. In their reality, it may still happen – was already happening due to the decimation of the VSA but with population numbers so low…

Scotty looked at him and for five long seconds, he thought the Scotsman would protest, ask another question, but the man just reached over to squeeze his shoulder. Jim grabbed that hand and squeezed back, grateful to have the engineer at his back.

"I'm bloody famished," the man announced in a fair imitation of his usual good mood, though his tone remained quiet out of respect. Scotty glanced over, "Ye hungry, sir? Oh I could use a good sandwich."

Jim wanted to laugh but managed to keep it inside, reminded once again why he loved his Engineer; sometimes the only thing you can do when faced with death is get on with the business of living. "Sure, I could eat. But I'm not sure about sandwiches – plenty of rations around, sure."

"Oh – never that, sir!" Scotty scoffed. "I'm talking about the stuff that got beamed over with the last batch of goodies from the _Douglas_ , a fine lassie that one – for that sort, ye know," the man added, as though in apology to the _Enterprise_. Scotty's anthropomorphism of their 'Lady' never got old; though sometimes Jim wondered if Scotty did it deliberately, just to make them smile. "Apparently, the kitchen's all stocked up now," the man said in a lowered his voice, eyebrows wagging comically.

"Really?" Jim had heard something about fresh stasis-packed foods being beamed over along with the spare parts and other supplies, but he hadn't looked into it, too busy overseeing repairs progress.

"Aye! Didn't ye know?"

When Jim simply shrugged, Scotty dragged the younger man up and hustled him towards the door. "Come on then, sandwiches don't make themselves."

Jim wrestled his arm back with a laugh under his breath but he went with the older man. "They don't?"

There was sardonic glance in his direction, "Ah… _no_ , sir, unfortunately _not_ ," Scotty advised him in all seriousness, "that would be your yeoman-of-the-day's handiwork."

This time, Jim allowed his laughter to escape, and after a moment, Scotty's laughter mingled with his own as they made their way together down the deserted corridor.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Sickbay, year 2246_

The young Vulcan regarded him cautiously from his upright seated position upon the bed. "I was told that you needed to speak with me."

If Spock were fully honest, he would admit that he was here only at the behest of Doctor McCoy. He had been placed on mandatory stand-down for the next twenty-four hours and found himself acceding to the Doctor's request, though he would have preferred to join Jim in the briefing room, while he and several petty officers sorted through the logistics of having all six-hundred and eighty-eight crewmembers disembark in a day's time for Vulcan. In fact, Spock would have preferred being of some assistance in Engineering, or even being on the bridge performing the tedious task of coordinating repair groups to completing his purpose in Sickbay. However, feeling that elaboration would not be necessary, he simply nodded, and said, "That is correct."

It was early morning according to shipboard time, and except for the patients, Sickbay was relatively empty. Still, Spock drew the privacy curtains around the bed of his young counterpart as quietly as he could, mindful that young Jim Kirk remained asleep. According to Doctor McCoy, the boy should not awaken for several more hours due to the side-effects of the medication he'd been prescribed. His younger self watched him closely as he completed his task, a slight shadow of apprehension on his face.

"As there are no Vulcan healers aboard, Doctor McCoy has requested that I perform a preliminary examination, to ascertain the state of your mental shields before you are transferred to the _T'Para_ ," Spock explained. He neglected to mention that the doctor was concerned with the mind-meld that had transpired between the boys, and that his primary goal was to ascertain the level of damage done by the unmediated meld.

The boy nodded in acceptance, but his apprehension did not disappear. For a minute, they sat in silence as Spock waited for the traditional words of permission to be offered. His younger self did not offer them. "May I make a personal query?" the boy asked instead.

Spock inclined his head; it was an acceptable delay. He had anticipated that a short period of questioning would be unavoidable and had formulated appropriate responses to the inquiries he had deemed most likely.

"Why did you choose to join Starfleet Academy?" The boy asked predictably, "I see no logic in the pursuance of a military career and I have never entertained the idea"' _And I cannot accept that Father would have allowed me to ever consider the idea – he would have never approved_ , Spock included silently on the boy's behalf.

"Starfleet is not merely a military institution." _Yes_ , even he had initially viewed Starfleet with disdain, an attitude precipitated by having lived with Vulcan peers all of his life. "While I will concede that ships in the fleet are certainly armed, often heavily – as they must be for Starfleet to function as the Federation's peacekeeping armada – I remind you that Starfleet's first and foremost function is to be the humanitarian, exploratory, scientific and diplomatic arm of the Federation."

"You have thought about this," the boy noted, a thoughtful tilt to his head.

"At great length – I would not have ventured so far from the plans set for me if I were not thoroughly convinced that Starfleet held the answers that I sought."

"Does that mean you recommend Starfleet Academy?"

Would he do it all again, Spock wondered, would he break away from his father, leave his home in anger the way that he had? At seventeen, he had been old enough and intelligent enough to choose his own path, but his father had refused to hear his logic. It was only two years away, he realized, staring at the boy in front of him. If the boy's physical development continued on course, he would soon hit the period of rapid physical development that Humans called a _growth spurt_. Within weeks, the boy would gain stature, muscle mass, and his mind would change, become clearer, more assertive.

"Though the decision was costly, I consider it a worthy sacrifice." Spock chose not to elaborate. Though he had made peace with his father, the memories remained unpleasant.

The boy looked away, his next words low and cautious, as if he almost dared not speak them aloud, "I believe my upbringing upon Vulcan to be inadequate preparation for the realities of the galaxy."

Spock wouldn't have dared at this age to even complete the thought that a Vulcan education was inadequate! There was disdain in the boy's eyes as he met his gaze evenly, a quiet strength exuding from him. "I am not prepared to say that I wish to turn away from the path set by my father, however," the boy continued, "Starfleet offers a viable alternative. While I remain averse to the idea of a violent existence, I am aware that there is undeniable logic in Starfleet's defensive policies."

Spock stared at the young Vulcan, and wondered at the differences manifesting in what he had expected to be a predictable conversation. " _Mastery of violence is mastery of one's self._ "

His younger self raised an eyebrow, "Surak."

He had traded that verse with his parents when petitioning to have their approval to attend Starfleet Academy. He had not required their approval as he had been an adult already at seventeen having undergone the _kahs-wan_ to qualify for the rite of adulthood early. His mother had offered hers but it had been his father's approval that he had sought, and having not received it, rejected his want of it.

"Do you believe Starfleet to be the correct path for me as well?"

Spock recalled Nyota and Jim walking together, the young captain's engaging countenance hiding the concern he had for Nyota, and the young woman's responding concern for Jim, evident in the way that she cajoled him. If he had stayed upon Vulcan… if he had attended the Vulcan Science Academy… if he had done as his father wanted… such a notion now seemed utterly inconceivable. But this was not his reality, Spock reminded himself, this young man was not him – this had been confirmed quite clearly by their short exchange – and it was not his decision to make.

"I cannot guarantee that the reasons which propelled me to attend Starfleet Academy are relevant here."

The eyes holding his gaze declared otherwise, showing a strength of conviction that Spock had not been able to attain for another three years. "Thank you for answering my query. You may begin your examination."

Spock nodded faintly, his mind still whirling; was this change in demeanor the consequence of meeting Jim Kirk at such a young age, of surviving under Nero's madness, of being forced to assume control for his own fate at such an early age, of facing his own mortality, of assuming responsibility for another being's life?

With admirable control, Spock swept his busy thoughts away then leaned forward, hand in position to initiate the meld. "I will begin," he told the boy, then murmured the ritual words as his mind reached out and his counterpart accepted, until… Their minds were one and together, and knowledge passed between them, so that they both knew and did not know.

Spock didn't have to search far. There were dormant relics – likely from a preliminary bond formed by a mind adept – though whatever had been there was now thoroughly replaced by the pulsing childhood betrothal bond that the boy had formed himself to the young Jim Kirk. The bond was unmistakable, it shone through the boy's consciousness like a beacon, too strong to be an accident and too entrenched to be dissolved without considerable pain. _Why_ , he asked; if the boy should have died, he would have sentenced the young Jim Kirk to a delirious death since no Healer would have been present to remove the childhood bond. _But at least James would not have suffered alone._ From nowhere, remembered images and feelings were thrust to the forefront of his mind, all of the young Vulcan's most treasured recollections of this friend he called _James_ – the easy interactions, lively debates and fascinating anecdotes. A mix of humiliation and defiance coursed through him as youthful fantasies were laid bare, all of which included the young Vulcan and James, studying and working together, sometimes on an imaginary _Enterprise_.

Spock took a deep breath and opened his eyes. They were still in their seated positions facing each other, his counterpart upon the bed, he upon a stool, the muted sounds of sickbay drifting through the privacy curtain and occasional footsteps heralding someone's passage. A glance at the chronometer showed that barely five-minutes had gone by. His hand remained in the meld position, though their minds were barely touching now.

"You are betrothed." He said, not at all surprised.

His younger self met his gaze. "Yes," he said, tilting his chin up in a painfully familiar gesture of defiance, but Spock could easily read the turmoil underneath. "It seemed logical…at the time. It is the only bond I know– I didn't–"

He easily drew what the young Vulcan had meant to say from the light connection that remained between their minds: _I didn't expect to survive._ His counterpart's eyes drifted, and Spock followed his line of sight to – young James Kirk, who slept on peacefully. Simply the sight of the other boy gave his counterpart joy; Spock could feel it seeping through the meld. He gently terminated the connection, drawing back into his own self; his Vulcan sense of privacy demanded that feelings of such tenderness remain a private experience. His counterpart paid no notice to his actions.

Spock sat back, his face serious. The circumstances surrounding his and Jim's counterparts meeting had been contrived, forced by unnatural events. They should have, according to what Jim remembered from his mind-meld with Ambassador Spock, met as Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock aboard the _Enterprise_ , assigned together by Starfleet Command with no thought to their preferences, and thus come to know each other as officers first, before making the leap to friendship. For Jim and himself, they knew each other first as antagonists, became allies, and then entered each others' confidence as colleagues and friends as they took command of the _Enterprise_ together.

They were slowly moving past friendship into a deeper attachment, the product of their trials in these intervening years. However, Spock suspected that it would not have occurred to him, as either a cadet or a freshly commissioned officer, that he could harbor any attraction to the rambunctious, unpredictable and often wildly illogical Jim Kirk. He doubted that he would have wanted from him anything other than peak work efficiency, if these desires had not been honed by his experiences with Jim, watching the man work, learning the way he thought, trusting him and discovering his trust well-placed.

If he had been presented with Jim Kirk at this young age…the answer was obvious. Being confused, conflicted and desperately in need of a friend, he would have become instantly enamored of Jim's easy manners and spirited ways. He could understand how in the face of isolation and cruelty at the hands of the Romulans, the young James would have become a source of strength, and a well of comfort.

"It is unusual to choose a mate at your age without consulting one's parents," he pointed out, then sensing the coming protest from the boy, added, "but due to the circumstances, and the strength of your connection, I believe the healers will find it illogical to break the bond."

By the expression on the boy's face, to keep his link with the young Jim would be the preferred outcome. At the back of his mind, Spock wondered if the young Vulcan truly understood the challenges before them.

"James is not at the age of majority for Humans, and even if you obtain his consent, his parent may decline your request, especially since Humans generally do not condone child pairings – the best outcome you can expect would be conditional consent, with the choice to annul the bond when James comes of age."

The look that he received from his younger self for suggesting that his friend wouldn't want him bordered on belligerence, and Spock could almost hear the psychic declaration ring out in the air between them that James wouldn't, that the young Vulcan would keep the other boy's affection, there would be no challenge and they would pass the ritual of fire and bells. Spock felt a wry smile tug at the edges of his mouth, not sure if he admired the boy's assuredness or was embarrassed by such naïve emissions from someone who was a shade of himself.

"Do you still intend to honor the Vulcan way?" At the brief nod in response, the commander stood with an air of finality. "Then your parents will need to be informed, and the ceremony will be required, for James Kirk to be recognized by the clan."

Having done what he had promised, and having said all that needed saying, Spock bowed his head and turned to leave. He opened the privacy curtain, drawing the attention of Doctor M'Benga who nodded a greeting. Spock returned the nod then strode out of Sickbay into the corridors.

Though no one except perhaps Nyota or Jim would be able to tell anything was out of the ordinary, Spock felt obvious in his bewildered pleasure on his counterpart's behalf. The existence of Ambassador Spock gave him hope that through his chosen path of a career in Starfleet, he would ultimately find peace between his Vulcan and Human halves; the existence of his younger self reminded him strongly that he had chosen the path of Starfleet for a reason, that he had left Vulcan for a reason, and that he would remain parted from his people for this purpose.

The knowledge that two alternate versions of himself also shared strong connections to their own reality's Jim Kirk, affirmed his own slow-burning affections for the young man who owned that name from his timeline. A primary reasoning against a childhood pledge between his counterpart and the young James was simple and perhaps obvious; they had met during a time of trial, and under exceedingly difficult circumstances, they had been forced to depend on each other. Such dependence led to strong attachments, which could potentially dissolve once the danger had been removed. Ironically, the same measure could be applied to his own relationship with Jim Kirk. They had meet during battle, much of their daily existence on the _Enterprise_ was filled with conflict, dangers, and threats both known and unknown.

Spock allowed himself to consider the idea that his affections for Jim were nothing more than a mix of loyalty and base lusts aroused by adrenalin, but he was past that stage of being uncertain. In any case the description was inaccurate, an oversimplification; their shared trials had clarified their view of one another, but his regard for Jim had far outstripped mere admiration many months ago. While many relationships were known to become estranged under pressure, theirs' only strengthened. They thrived together in extreme situations, and it was in those moments that their connection was the strongest. Desire coiled through him like a persistent ache, as he recalled the details of Jim's warm lips against his fingertips, the moistness of his mouth against Spock's own. He had attempted to wait for a more opportune time, but Jim's disappointment had aroused a need to make his intentions known.

"Morning," a familiar voice greeted.

Spock's head snapped up abruptly, and he realized belatedly that his feet had brought him back to his quarters.

"Good morning," he replied automatically.

Jim's eyes crinkled with amusement. The sight instantly put him at ease, and he took in the rest of the man's appearance. Jim Kirk was comfortably attired in dark undershirt and pants, and judging by the slight dust at the ankle of his left foot this was the same outfit he had been wearing since they had last been in one another's presence. Spock raised his eyebrows slightly at this, but the majority of his curiosity was focused upon the covered dish that Jim carried.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah," Jim chuckled, "You can open your door and let me in. I brought some sandwiches." At Spock's quizzical frown, he shook his head, "Come on, don't give me that ' _I do not require sustenance_ ' spiel – I made your favorite."

Opening his cabin doors, Spock raised a bemused eyebrow and fell into step behind the man as Jim wandered inside. "My favorite?" he queried.

"Yeah, your favorite – California sandwich right? Extra alfalfa sprouts? The avocado is reconstituted – honestly don't know how that works but I tried some, tastes okay."

Jim placed the dish on his small table and unveiled it with little ceremony. He was faintly surprised that Jim was aware that he preferred the California sandwich over other common vegetarian options, though he knew that the man was more observant than he pretended to be. He listened as Jim quickly explained the circumstances leading up to his appearance here. Apparently he had spent his sleepless night in the kitchens with their Chief Engineer, investigating the food supplies they had been issued with.

"Scotty and I went a little overboard last night – well, this morning – and I thought you might like some. The replicators aren't exactly high on the list for need-to repairs and rations are rations, so…"

A hopeful glance was cast in his direction, an expression that the Vulcan was intimately familiar with and had seen only days ago on another, younger face – a naked hunger for companionship and an ever-present fear of being turned away; Spock felt warm empathy flow through him in response.

"Thank you, Jim."

His reward was a bright smile, and a graceless slump into the nearest chair. "I know you're the sleepless wonder, but you have gotten some sleep recently, right?"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy was quite clear on acceptable off-duty activities."

Jim predictably laughed; the sound was welcoming after the stresses of battle and loosened whatever remaining tension was in the Vulcan's muscles. "So where were you this _very_ early morning?"

"Sickbay," He replied, then at the concerned look he was given, clarified, "To speak with my young counterpart."

At this information, Jim's usual post-battle enthusiasm calmed. "How was it? Good, bad, weird?"

Spock was tempted to shrug. The Ambassador had implied that he needed Jim Kirk and vice versa. His younger self had already embraced this, linking himself to young James in the most intimate of ways, pursuing the idea of Starfleet, of a world beyond Vulcan deserts and Vulcan disciplines much earlier than he ever had.

"It was enlightening," he said without a hint of irony.

" _Enlightening_ …?"

"He has an assurance that I find…curious."

"I can't see the difference; he looks just like you, acts like you too. Caught him with his hands behind his back when Bones was teaching him about the system in the Sickbay storage bays – I swear, spitting image, except you know, smaller."

Spock glanced at the man and arched one eyebrow that said quite plainly he thought the younger man was pointing out the blatantly obvious, but realized immediately from the glint in Jim's eyes that he was being teased as a subtle nudge for further clarification. "A sentient being is more than the sequence and assemblage of their genes," he said pointedly, "I admit, we share similar features, personality traits and even mannerisms, but we are fundamentally different in several important aspects."

Spock waited the other man to make an interjection but Jim remained silent, his casual slouch in the chair belying the steady weight of his eyes.

"He has a sense of self which I did not possess at the same age; he appears to have benefited from his exposure to your young counterpart."

"I'll take the compliment _but_ ," Jim shot him a thoughtful smile, "I find it hard to imagine that you ever had any doubts, Spock."

Neither of them had spoken much on the subject of their lives before Starfleet Academy, both wishing to keep their pasts private. There had been a time when self-doubt was all he knew, until he had put it aside to pursue the Vulcan path. Then, when he chose Starfleet, the feelings arose again but he ruthlessly suppressed them, denying their very existence. Spock sat down at the table.

"My counterpart is considering a career in Starfleet."

Jim snorted, "After the shit we just went through, he wants _more_?"

"There is a certain freedom to a Starfleet career that cannot be found in pure academia. I agree with this assessment, and it appears he shares my view." But that was only a half-truth.

"Sounds like he's got a plan," Jim shrugged. "So what's the problem?"

His academic advisor had asked him why he had enlisted, and he had replied in rote that Starfleet Academy was a reputable educational institution, whose flexible attitude towards the scientific method suited him better. It had satisfied Captain Rabin, who was amused by his answer. It had been the truth, but the classicist attitude of the Vulcan Science Academy alone would not have been enough to drive him away. There had been other reasons, a whole list of reasons, starting from his childhood. But his counterpart had one motivation that made all the difference; the boy was running towards something, while he had been running away.

"I am concerned that his desire to join Starfleet is directly related to his desire to remain with James."

Jim gave him a long look, face carefully blank, before letting out a small nervous laugh. "Okay, that's getting a little serious for their age. Did you tell him to cool it?"

Spock's eyes flicked up to gaze upon Jim Kirk's face, studying it with affectionate warmth. "The same factor did play a not-insignificant part in my own decision to remain in Starfleet."

Jim's startled expression quickly changed into one of returned affection that sent a frisson of pleasure through Spock. He had never revealed the details regarding the exchange between himself and the ambassador. Their short discussion had revolved around Jim Kirk, the man who would be his captain, eventually becoming his closest friend, that staying in Starfleet and serving with the man would be his best destiny. He had tentatively believed Ambassador Spock then, and now in hindsight, Spock acceded to the elder Vulcan's wisdom.

"Your counterpart is the first and only true friend he has ever known."

"You have friends," Jim stated with quiet assurance, straightening to touch his wrist.

Spock felt his skin shiver at the slight contact. Yes, he did. Aboard the _Enterprise_ ; Nyota, Jim, and many others, even Doctor McCoy. He leaned towards the other man and that was all the encouragement that Jim needed to close the distance between them. The kiss was chaste compared to one shared earlier, but it seemed to burn his mouth with its slow gentle intensity. When they parted, Jim was grinning.

"You stuck to Starfleet for little ol' me?"

"Yes," he replied easily, "however, in my case, my decision to remain was also influenced by a desire to stop the captain from taking the _Enterprise_ with him when he inevitably leaped too far. In contrast, I imagine that young James will benefit from the influence of logic, and be less trying.'

Jim snorted, "Yeah good luck with that; personally, I think it's more likely to go the other way - maybe you'll learn to be less pointy."

A trilling whistle from the desk intercom drew their attention and halted Spock's refute. 'Bridge to Captain Kirk,' an unfamiliar voice said urgently.

With a tired sigh, Jim answered it. "Kirk here, what's it is, Alden?"

'Sir, we've just been hailed…' Alden trailed off, uncertain. Spock shared a look of curiosity with the other man, '…It's Ambassador Sarek aboard the _T'Para_ , sir, they've dropped out of warp on an intercept course. Said they finished their escort duties early and Ambassador Sarek insisted that medical aid should be top priority, so they're here, sir, and they're waiting for us.'

_Ambassador Sarek…_

Spock startled at the reference to his father.

"Commander Spock and I are on our way, Kirk out."


	27. Chapter 27

_VSS T'Para, Shuttle Bay Atrium, year 2246_

Standing amidst the medical staff gathered in the atrium, Sarek was out of place in his resplendent ambassadorial cloak. The healers wore functional monochromatic clothing, simple in cut; having spent so much time away from his native Vulcan, the sight of them huddled together in their warm whites and tans seemed strikingly foreign. Technically, only medical personnel were allowed to wait here but his status as a diplomat meant no one would question his presence. While part of Sarek was relieved to be spared the necessities of small talk, it was distinctly unnerving to deny that which had become almost habitual to him now. He realized to his chagrin that he _wanted to talk_ , would welcome the distraction. The silence was unnerving.

 _You have declined an important meeting with the Klingons and deferred two time sensitive trade agreements for this,_ Sevok had reminded him, indecisive over whether he was confused or disgruntled at Sarek's choice. A new addition to his office staff, the young Vulcan had much to learn of diplomacy.

Yes, yes, he had done all of that. There could have hardly been another decision. To choose duty over family would have been impossible. To have allowed anything short of an interstellar war to take precedence over this reunion would have sent Amanda up in arms. And in truth, he wanted to be here.

A bolt of anticipatory anxiety shot through him and he felt Amanda resume pacing in the corridor, wringing her hands together in a nervous gesture that he hadn't seen her enact in a long time. One word was on her lips: _Spock_. The edges of his mouth shifted in response – _Spock, alive_! Only his hours of meditation kept him calm. In contrast, Amanda's anxiety shifted from excitement to impatience which transformed into frustration; and then she repeated this cycle far too frequently to be healthy. _Soon_ , he assured her through their link, _soon_ …

The proximity alert sounded, drawing his attention back to the hangar. A shuttle of foreign design glided in to land followed by another, a whole fleet of shuttles touching down in silent symphony. The hangar was pressurized within seconds of the doors closing. As the connecting door opened, healers surged forward to separate into teams, converging upon each shuttle's disembarking wounded.

Sarek walked past gurney after gurney, noting each face but finding only unfamiliar alien features. At the back of his mind, Amanda's silent imperative urged that he make haste. He swept his eyes from the left to the right and then back again, he felt the edges of his calm fray as more and more patients wrapped up in their floating gurneys slid past him to the hangar exit.

"Ambassador!"

He turned sharply to his left. A young Human responsible for a gurney stood awkwardly at the bottom of a shuttle ramp, lost as to what to say now that she had Sarek's attention. The ambassador didn't recognize the young female but he did recognize the Human dressed in Starfleet Medical's white and grey who exited after her. Doctor Talleria was the medical liaison, and his primary contact outside of Commodore Kirk. They had spoken in the initial conference call to arrange the patient transfer; in fact, the doctor had been one of four people cleared for contact from the classified Starfleet ship. Setting aside his own wishes, Sarek changed course to the shuttle but faltered as the doctor stepped away from the ramp to help one of the healers.

A young Vulcan male of slender stature lay within the cocoon-like wrapping of the descending gurney. Even though his face was half-obscured with a breathing apparatus, his son's countenance was unmistakable. The ambassador took a deep breath and exhaled through his nostrils; Spock. His link to Amanda surged with emotion, stronger than he had experienced in years. Distracted, Sarek greeted the doctor and searched out the ship's senior healer to introduce them.

"Ambassador," someone said, breaking him from his dazed state, "thank you for agreeing to rendezvous with us, and I'm sorry for the lack of warning. We come to serve."

It took several moments for Sarek to recognize the uniform of the Human woman who approached. Commodore Winona Kirk held her hand up in the traditional _ta'al_ with ease unexpected of a Human, earning his approval and respect. With effort, he forced himself to turn away from Spock to greet her.

"It is no trouble, Commodore. Your honor us with your service," he said mechanically.

She ignored his distraction and acknowledged his greeting with a brusque nod, advising him that he was welcome to attend her debriefing with Starfleet Command. It would convene on the _Douglas_ once they arrived at Vulcan and her yeoman would contact his office with the exact time once it was scheduled. Sarek murmured an agreement but he barely heard her, his attention drawn to Spock, whose gurney was moved to make room for other disembarking injured. To his relief, Commodore Kirk left quickly, distracted by one of the _T'Para_ shuttle technicians who approached her for information.

The medic assisting Doctor Talleria turned to him, "Would you like to take him, sir?"

Carefully controlled, Sarek accepted. After checking on the bed's settings, the young man turned it over to the ambassador and left to assist a woman in a wheelchair. Alone with the sole Vulcan patient, Sarek raised his hand and placed it firmly upon Spock's shoulder. As though seeking confirmation of what his eyes insisted was fact, he squeezed gently, almost reveling in the solid sensation of heat. It was not logical, but it was necessary.

A strange relief flowed from that point of contact through his entire body and Sarek exhaled on a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. At the back of his mind, he felt Amanda calm, her relief and satisfaction wrapping around him like a warm sultry breeze from the desert plains.

Spock was safe. Spock was _home_.

It took awhile till the need to affirm started ebbing away. Finally the ambassador drew back and carefully guided Spock out of the shuttle bay, following the procession that had sprung up organically in response to the need for order. Sarek realized that T'Pau would need to be apprised and that he would have to submit a request for his son's re-enrollment at the T'Plana-Hath Academy. Already, his mind was speeding ahead, considering which adjustments must be made to his schedule to allow him to be present with Amanda for the duration of Spock's treatment and physical therapy.

He felt Amanda's concern before he saw what had caused it. Upon entering the atrium, Sarek drew to an uneasy stop as he was approached by three mind adepts, easily identified by their midnight full-length robes. Amanda trailed behind them but did not approach despite her desire to see Spock. Instead she hovered in the linking doorway to the secondary atrium, her eyes wide with anxiety as she took in the scene.

"Ambassador Sarek," the eldest held her hand up in the _ta'al_ , "We come to heal."

He inclined his head, returning the greeting with apprehension. There was no reason for a mind adept to seek out his counsel except in relation to Spock. Troubled, Sarek wondered as he had for the last two sleepless nights what his son had endured.

"As no disrespect is meant, I cannot speak of it here. Please, this way," She gestured to the door leading to the empty visitor's lounge, "this matter is to be discussed in private."

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Shuttle Hangar, year 2246_

Hikaru Sulu walked down the ramp of the shuttle and felt a deep heavy sense of relief. After being excused from his extra shift, he had only had the time to wolf down a ration bar, take a shower and change his clothes before being recalled to help transfer the injured. Finally though, he was off-duty and a free agent. Technically he was off-duty indefinitely until the ship could be overhauled – well, barring an emergency. While he knew he should take advantage of this time to get some sleep, Sulu also knew that any attempts to bunk down before he had decompressed were simply going to end in frustration and tossed covers.

Not really sure where he was heading, Sulu let his feet automatically tread along the corridors. Gradually he realized he was on a familiar route, one that took him to the hydroponics bay, which also doubled as the ship's very own park. The small grass field was dark, a part of the ceiling having fallen in. It broke the illusion of clear skies that the Enterprise's engineers had attempted to embed into the walls and ceilings. It was actually incredible that this section of the ship remained viable at all, since last he checked, at least a quarter of the ship was completely dead with no life support or power, and another quarter had been evacuated due to suspect structural integrity. Weary and grateful, Sulu dropped onto the grass and rolled over on onto his back, recalling the last time he'd visited. It had been a baseball game to let off steam after a grueling week of nebula surveys and Mister Spock had shockingly schooled them all, showing off incredible flare as a pitcher. Beat the pants off the captain and then some.

Lost in good memories, he must have dozed because the next thing he knew, the Chief Medical Officer was standing above him crooking an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant, is there a reason you've ignored my orders to come to sickbay?"

"But I'm fine," Sulu said on reflex, before his brain caught up and reminded him who he was speaking to. He mentally winced but it was too late.

"Uh-huh, sure. And I suppose between the ship acrobatics and all those tiny insignificant explosions, you've managed to find time for a medical degree."

"But I don't even have a bruise," Sulu mumbled.

McCoy sputtered, " _Don't have a bruise_ \- I'll give you a bruise in a second if you don't get walking!"

With a groan, Hikaru Sulu struggled onto his feet, knowing when to quit digging his own hole. It was true that muscles he didn't even know lived in his body were aching, but that always happened after a tense shift at the helm. Doctor McCoy shook his head in disapproval, nostrils flaring as he took proprietary hold of one arm and began dragging the helmsman out of hydroponics. Sulu didn't bother to protest, though he rolled his eyes when they passed a bemused Uhura in the corridor. She mouthed 'good luck' but judging from her smirk, she didn't mean it.

Sulu expected an empty Sickbay since most of the patients had been offloaded but nearly all of the beds were occupied. At second glance, he realized that they were all bridge officers or engineers. Most surprising among them was the captain, well-known for his aversion to sickbays. But today, Jim Kirk lay on his stomach, face jammed against the pillow at an odd angle, covered in a standard blue blanket with the delta logo imprinted in gray that didn't quite tuck around his feet. Sulu couldn't be sure through the half-closed privacy curtain, but it looked like the man was drooling. A horrible premonition came over the helmsman that this was about to be his fate as well.

Catching his wary look, Doctor McCoy defended himself with a furious scowl, "That was medically necessary!"

"He lies," a new voice croaked from behind them, accent instantly recognizable.

Glancing heavenwards, the good doctor whipped aside the privacy curtains to reveal Pavel Chekov, who groggily blinked at them from his cocoon of blankets. There was a vitals monitor attached to his temple and he was sickly pale now that the flush of victory had worn off. Sulu felt a jolt of guilt; he hadn't checked up on Pavel after delivering the navigator to Sickbay, too busy with his duties and then shuttling their injured to their new accommodations. Now that Sulu had the time to process, he was surprised that Chekov had even managed to function at all. He'd helped Uhura come up with the idea for communicating with the _Douglas_ and somehow made the adjustments to the shuttle's limited communications array which allowed them to get through the interference, all after he had been electrocuted and concussed.

Sulu leaned forward, voice kept low out of respect for the others. "Pavel, how-? What-? I thought you'd left with the others."

The younger man gave a small grunt, muffled by his blanket. "They wouldn't dare. Only my head kind of hurts, but I'm fine. I will sleep and feel better."

Doctor McCoy snorted loudly and proceeded to grumble about refusal of treatment, foolish youth, and stubbornness being a rampant viral infection as he fussed with his tricorder, waving his scanner wand around Sulu's temples. The helmsman looked between them, silently asking his friend to clue him in but Chekov merely rolled his eyes. This was obviously an ongoing disagreement.

"How's the ship?"

"Good. We're being tugged to the Vulcan shipyards."

"Oh. How did the captain get around the Temporal Prime Directive?"

"We're going to be quarantined, so the ship can be repaired without outside interference – apparently there's some obscure emergency procedure set up by the DTI that deals with this so they've enacted it." Sulu explained, realizing that the young man probably slept through Commodore Kirk's arrival with emergency supplies, missed the evacuation of semi-serious to critically injured crew and didn't even know about the Starfleet Corps of Engineers convoy taking the ship to their destination. "There was a ship-wide announcement by Mister Spock – you can watch it later when you're better."

"Oh," the younger man said, sounding so confused that Sulu felt automatically compelled to reassure him.

"It's just standard procedures really, except we're not directly heading to HQ. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Before Pavel could answer, Doctor McCoy stepped between them, hypospray held in a distractingly threatening pose. "Lieutenant Sulu, while I understand that you kids want to catch up on all the gossip, it can wait until we're done. Please tell me if you feel pain anywhere and give me your arm."

A look passed between the two young men before Sulu reluctantly did as requested.

"Thank you," the doctor said dryly, sounding as though he meant the very opposite.

The Russian's eyes crinkled in a drowsy smile and Sulu grinned back. It was probably the biggest joke in the ninth fleet that their Chief Medical Officer had no bedside manners to speak of. Sulu remembered the early days when Pavel had been intimidated by the doctor's brusque manners – until he discovered that the man was a complete marshmallow on the inside despite the prickly exterior. It happened when a whole bunch of people came back from shore leave with Deltan marsh-fever and almost everyone got sick; Pavel had the worst case of it but with staff already stretched thin, the doctor had slept in a chair by Pavel's bedside during the night shift instead of returning to his quarters, just so there was always someone there to call the Russian out of the hallucinations.

With confident ease born of much practice, the doctor gave him several shots in succession. Sulu only recognized the capsule casing for hydronalin and couldn't quite control his suspicious look at the others. He rubbed absently at his upper arm, tensing in anticipation of being hit with overwhelming drowsiness.

Doctor McCoy huffed. "There's no need to give me that look."

"You deserve it," came the small retort immediately but not from Sulu.

The doctor whirled around and snapped the privacy curtain closed around Chekov's bed to an annoyed cry. He shot the helmsman a surly look that promised torture if Sulu tried to run and disappeared behind the curtain to rant at Chekov about how he wasn't conserving his energy and he was here to rest, not commentate on everything in Sickbay, and especially not to gossip – after all the two of them gossiped all shift on the bridge every other day so why couldn't they just _be quiet_?

Hikaru Sulu grinned as he listened to the argument and was hit by a wave of emotion so strong it almost brought tears to his eyes. The ship was crippled, lives had been lost, some of his friends were gone forever and they might never make it home, but he felt invigoratingly alive and most of all, hopeful. At the back of his mind, Sulu wondered if he'd been drugged but it didn't feel like that. No, he felt undeniably, insistently _alive_. Maybe it was a side effect of beating the odds, cheating death.

Finally, Doctor McCoy retracted the privacy curtains and stormed away to a computer terminal, updating patient records like the results personally offended him. Genuine affection bloomed in Sulu's chest for both his fellow officers as Chekov gave him a small cheeky smile, enjoying the victory.

"Am I free to go?"

"No," the doctor said with relish, not looking up from his PADD. "Lie down and get comfortable, Lieutenant. I want eight hours out of you."

"But I can sleep in my cabin," he protested, already moving to leave. "I'm happy to make sure Pavel gets to his cabin, he's just across from mine – we should leave some beds open here."

Chekov nodded sagely.

With hands on his hips, Doctor McCoy abandoned his records to raise his eyebrows at them. "And how do I know that you will be sleeping as opposed to staying up playing that damned game you're both so fond of?"

"It's Swashbucklers and Samurais! It's classic!"

Sulu gave his young friend an approving look for defending one of his favorite pastimes. "Doctor, I'm fine, really. All I need is some sleep, which was exactly what I was doing when you found me in hydroponics."

The Chief Medical Officer was unmoved.

"Or I can sleep here," Sulu conceded in defeat. Chekov sank back into his pillows.

"When you don't collapse of hunger, dehydration and prolonged high stress, please, don't thank me," the older man drawled as he furiously jabbed as his datapad, his accent coming on thicker in his annoyance. "Mendoza, bring Lieutenant Sulu some pajamas. And you," he narrowed his eyes at Chekov, "eat something before you start poking holes in your clothes."

Despite the long sigh, the helmsman allowed Nurse Mendoza to guide him to the bed on the other side of Chekov's. The dark-skinned man gave him a sympathetic look as he brought a set of plain sleeping clothes with the Starfleet logo and then came back a moment later with food. Pavel got a tray too, along with a cup of warm milk. It was surprisingly easy to relent to the doctor's orders, and after eating, Sulu grew naturally drowsy. Lying down and making himself comfortable in the sickbay bed, he was vaguely aware of Nurse Mendoza raising the bedrails to prevent him from rolling off and the lights being dimmed. In the background, he heard Doctor McCoy start ranting at whoever just caused the doors to swish open and found his lips curling in satisfaction that another crew member was about to be McCoy-ed.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, en route to Vulcan Shipyard, year 2246_

Though the _Enterprise_ crew were surviving just fine on rations (as replicators weren't considered a necessary repair), the influx of new food supplies – especially fresh goods held in stasis – from the convoy that Starfleet assigned to tug the ship to the _40 Eridani A Starfleet Construction Yard_ , meant that meals could be prepared in the kitchens by anyone daring enough. Captain and Chief Engineer were the first to take up the challenge. They made cheese toast and sandwiches, which were passed around to great fanfare, until the captain made the tactical error of delivering a batch to Sickbay and was dragged off for a post-battle check up that lasted seventeen hours.

A day on from the sandwich revelation, a desire to eat real food along with duty restrictions enforced by their Chief Medical Officer, meant there was time and opportunity for someone to get it into their head to cook something more substantial. Without a Chief of Recreations on board, Nurse Chapel took charge and pushed together some tables to form a buffet stand for the dishes being whipped up by crew willing to try their hand at cooking. Any remaining field rations were promptly repacked for a more desperate time.

By the second day of their four day trek to the Vulcan system, an impromptu party started up on the Recreation deck, with people streaming in after their shifts to sit and chatter with friends and colleagues. The mess was filled with people preparing food, eating food, putting it out and clearing it away as everyone got involved. It was a relief, after everything that had happened, and even Doctor McCoy had nothing bad to say about it except to scoff at the pies. He declared that the apple pie had been definitely in stasis for longer than six months and could never hope to match the pies made in his hometown by the Pie and Cheesecake Factory. He still ate his slice though, and went back for seconds, so no one took him seriously.

* * *

_VSS T'Para, Medical Deck, year 2246_

Spock's fast metabolism woke him with a pang of hunger, his body's healing having used up more energy than he possessed. His eyes remaining firmly closed, he inhaled deeply into the breathing mask and shuddered at the faint unmistakable fragrance of Vulcan rosemary, a natural antiseptic used within Vulcan hospitals. Slowly, he became aware of a steady hum of machinery and the soft shuffling of feet. Spock realized he must have slept through the transfer to the _T'Para_ and felt a sharp spike of alarm as he considered what this meant before the closeness of James' presence grounded him. A split second later, Spock felt his father's presence.

"…historically significant – thus one may state that it is informed by tradition," his father said.

It was a voice which he had once feared he would never hear again.

"So what you're saying is that the bangs are a fashion statement – like the fact that skirts for women are popular right now on Earth?"

Abruptly, Spock came to full consciousness, recognizing the small weak voice responding to his father. He wondered how long James and the ambassador had been speaking and felt apprehension rise in him before he refuted it as an illogical impulse. Anything that his friend could reveal to his father would already be documented in his medical logs as he had been interviewed quite extensively by Doctor M'Benga – and Spock refused to be ashamed of what had occurred. Forcing his limbs to relax and his breathing to slow, he pretended to still be unconscious.

"In a manner, yes – however it is also informed by practicality."

"Hmm, whatever floats your boat, I guess."

There was an awkward lull and Spock was unpleasantly reminded of the few conversations he'd managed with his father before the kidnapping. He wanted to interrupt the conversation before it could escalate, though he wasn't sure who he was protecting – himself or James. Suddenly his father spoke, his voice softening to match his young Human friend's weak tones.

"I am told that you saved Spock's life."

There was an exhausted huff, "You've got that the wrong way around, Mister Sarek."

"Did you not stay with him when he was injured and ensure that his vitals remained steady?"

"Yeah, after he'd saved my life a gazillion times."

The urge to sit up and rebuke James for the ridiculous hyperbole was so strong that Spock began to turn in his bed but he froze as he heard his father's reply:

"He is much like his mother in that respect, for which I am grateful; the value which Humanity places on the practice of compassion is commendable. As a child of two worlds, it is a quality which I had hoped Spock would grow to emulate. To know that he has...I am content."

Spock hardly dared to breathe. His father had never expressed an opinion, negative or otherwise, on the Human part of his heritage. It was…strange, hearing praise for his Human side. Though he'd never doubted that his Human nature made him no lesser, he was aware that it was seen as a disadvantage in his decision to honor the Vulcan way. More often than not, the half-Human part of him remained unaddressed, though never forgotten.

"He told me about her, told me about how she had to be careful on Vulcan and, and – honestly, if it hadn't been for Spock, I swear to you, Mister, I'd be dead." James' voice thickened in conviction and though his eyes remained closed, Spock could see in his mind's eye, the earnestness of his friend's expression. "He took care me, sir, he really did."

"I see."

"We were stuck on Vulcan for like a month," James continued, voice cracking in strain, "in the middle of nowhere. Spock didn't have to, but he would save all the rations for me and eat cactus and stuff."

"That was thoughtful of him. There are risks in eating off the land."

"I know, he said that all the time," James paused, and swallowed so hard that Spock could hear the click of his throat over the hum of machinery, "But he almost died."

"And yet, you are both present."

"Because of him," James insisted, voice rising before he broke off with a cough. When he settled again, his voice was even softer, "He saved my life, Mister Sarek. I don't know how to begin thanking him. He's my best friend."

 _There was never any other choice_ , Spock thought. Saving James was akin to saving himself. It was an act of self-preservation, necessary and logical.

His father's reply was gentle, "May I share a secret?"

James made a small noise of assent.

"When Spock was born, due to the unique situation of his mother and I being of two different worlds, we applied for assistance from the best medical specialists and geneticists at the Vulcan Science Academy."

Spock took a small sharp breath, uncertain of what would be revealed. It was a struggle to continue the facade of sleep when everything inside of him wanted to leap up and stop this conversation from unfolding.

"Unlike many of his peers, he was not conceived in the natural sense but began his life inside the minds of brilliant scientists."

Spock frowned in confusion. It was common knowledge that assistance had been sought to conceive him, and that further medical assistance had been rendered by the most skilled obstetricians and xenobiologists upon Vulcan so that his mother could carry to term and give birth. This was neither atypical for a difficult pregnancy nor a secret and he did not understand why his father was sharing this information as such.

"There are parts of Human and Vulcan biology that are incompatible and as such, his DNA had to be re-sequenced to be viable. Some parts of his genetic makeup were individually selected. As no one involved had any experience in the matter, this process took seven Human years."

 _Seven_ Human years… Spock swallowed his surprise.

" _Seven years_?"

"Yes, seven years."

"Wow…" James whispered in awe. "You must have really wanted a kid."

Spock tensed. Though it was not spoken of, he knew that his birth was supposed to be representative of IDIC values supported by some upon the Vulcan High Council and the Lady T'Pau. The elder had never hidden her wishes for further integration of Vulcan to the Federation and had appointed his father as ambassador to further this agenda; his father choosing to marry a Human had been the next logical step. Children had been…extra.

"Yes, we did. Though many times, we considered the possibility that our wait would be in vain, we were encouraged at every stage by many of our peers and friends."

"Were you excited then? When the doctors were done?"

Spock waited for the answer.

His father made a light humming noise, as though considering his answer. "There was a moment when I wondered whether or not someone would demand I make a public announcement at the Federation Council meeting that morning."

Spock blinked, because he could hear the light touch of dry humor in his father's voice. It was an inflection that he'd never noticed before, but now in hindsight, he remembered hearing it so many times. It was his father's voice for his mother and their Human relatives; but he was addressing James.

"I considered doing it anyway once I realized the Tellarite councilor was speaking that day, and no one would expect me to pay attention if they knew my good news."

The boy laughed, shocking the young Vulcan with the joy of its timbre.

"Ambassador," an unknown voice interrupted.

"Healer Sorel."

"Hey Doc," James greeted cheerfully, despite his feebleness. "Is it time for the bandages to come off?"

The healer must have nodded an affirmative because the other boy tried to cheer but only managed a small croak. There was the sound of bed rails being raised and the hum of the bed's propulsion systems being adjusted for movement before James left with the healer. Alone with the ambassador, Spock stayed silent. He knew it was illogical to avoid the reunion, but still, he was unwilling to face his father.

It would be foolish to believe that the medical logs containing details of the bond between James and himself had not already been perused by the healers, and Spock could not imagine that his father would be pleased. James was nothing like T'Pring, nothing at all like any of the potentials who had been considered at the time of his pairing. As he contemplated what he should say or if he should continue to feign sleep, a visitor arrived.

"Sarek?"

His breath hitched and his heart surely missed a beat as he heard familiar light footsteps, favoring the left. Spock opened his eyes, drawn by his mother's voice.

"My wife," Sarek left the bedside to greet her, his voice gentle.

"How is he?"

"Spock has yet to awaken. I have been assured that this is no reason for concern; the healers are confident that he shall make a full physical recovery."

The young Vulcan bitterly noted that the specificity of the pronouncement that he would make a full physical recovery included no mention of his mental state.

"That's good," she exhaled. "You should rest, Sarek. You've been here all day."

"You worry needlessly, Amanda, I am well."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"I have arranged for suitable replacements to attend today and tomorrow's scheduled engagements."

"That may be all very well but Sevok has been messaging our quarters every hour _on_ the hour. For God's sake, answer the poor kid. Being told you're going to be playing host to a band of Klingons is no one's idea of a good time."

There was a brief pause.

"I suppose that I may have overestimated his abilities."

His mother made a small snort that Spock knew was rude, but considered acceptable within the interaction parameters of intimates.

"I will return."

"I won't hold my breath."

As soon as the sound of his father's strides disappeared with the swish of the doors, Spock gave up his masquerade of sleep. He rolled over and stared at his mother, dressed impeccably in deep blue Vulcan twill, her silhouette painfully familiar as she stood facing the exit, her lips quirked in a smile.

"Mother," he tried to say but it came out in a startled rasp when a healer appeared at his side seemingly from nowhere. The elder took a protective hold of his outstretched wrist in her gloved hand and removed the breathing mask muffling him just as his mother whirled around.

"Spock!" Joy, sorrow, longing and excitement flew across his mother's face in a furious succession that Spock would have had difficulty reading a year ago. He reached for her, eager to make contact but she did not proceed any closer than the foot of his bed as nurses surrounded him.

The elder Vulcan ran a scanner over his head. "I registered a change in your vitals but you appeared to be having difficulties reaching full consciousness. Are you in physical distress?"

Despite murmuring a negative, Spock allowed a nurse to assist him into a seated position, limbs still heavy from lingering exhaustion. Swiftly the bed conformed to his new upright position and the lights above his alcove switched on in response. Eyes squinting to adjust, Spock noted that he had been placed in the far corner of the chamber, set apart from all other patients except for James. With certainty, he knew that mind healers must have already confirmed his new betrothal bond, and that his parents were aware of James' importance to him.

Obediently, he answered the healer's questions and accepted the _kee-fi_ juice a nurse handed to him. His hand trembled as his dormant muscles worked to grasp the cool plastic cup, the rawness of his newly-healed skin making his fingers highly sensitive. The healer observed his slow shaky handling of the cup but made no moves to assist.

"Please consume two cups."

Understanding that he would not be deemed medically fit for company until he had satisfied the healers, Spock drank eagerly, his hunger rising in response to the tantalizing smell. Despite its turquoise shade, _kee-fi_ tasted like tart pineapple juice, and immediately his mind went to James – he longed to introduce the boy to this and several other Vulcan food items. From the foot of his bed, his mother waited patiently as he drank the two cups of juice followed by a flask of water, sipped more slowly. The nurses moved around him, checking on his mobility and administering needed injections.

"Are you nauseous?"

"No."

"Are you experiencing abdominal pain or any abnormal sensations around the digestive tract?"

She asked several questions further in the same vein, all of which Spock answered in the negative, growing progressively drowsier. Finally, the senior healer gave a nod of satisfaction and made a notation on a palm-sized datapad.

"I shall make arrangements for appropriate sustenance. Please conserve your energy."

Spock didn't protest as he was made to lie down again.

The healer disappeared just as abruptly as she had arrived, most of the nurses departing with her except for a junior healer who remained behind, a silent sentinel. The Vulcan characters stitched into the lapel of his robe declared his status as a mind adept.

Amanda Grayson approached the bed and grasped his hand carefully in hers. "Spock, _oh Spock_ ," she said tenderly, and nothing else. Her smile was wide and unabashed.

Spock appreciated the protection of the telepathic barrier the healer had erected, ensuring that he would not be struggling against projected emotions, but he found himself wishing that he could feel his mother's mental presence, every clumsy attempt at control, every slip and stray thought.

"Mother," he began, wishing to be given a chance to explain himself, what had happened, why James, make his plea for a future with this companion of his own choosing, but she placed a finger across his lips in a bid for quiet.

"It's going to be alright, Spock, just rest."

"But," he whispered, finding his eyes drawn to the mind healer who was an unavoidable reminder of the possible consequences of bonding with James as he had. Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the object of her son's concern and in a leap of understanding, a feat she often managed despite being psi-null, she grasped his shoulder and addressed the root of his concerns.

"You haven't done anything wrong and everyone knows it. It was a difficult situation you were in, and your father and I, we are just so pleased that you're alright." She told him sternly and then amended, "That you're _both_ alright. Just, I want you to focus on getting better okay, and the rest, well– we'll work it out. "

It went unspoken that with the strength of the current bond, he would experience difficulties if it were to be severed. So close as they were and with a direct view of her dark eyes, Spock saw the depth of his mother's fear for him if the worse came to pass and remembered his own fears for her and father while he'd been held captive, now put to rest. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his leaden arms around her shoulders, the scent of Tarkalean tea and something indistinct but floral filling his nostrils.

"It's okay," she murmured, petting his hair. "It's okay, you're safe now…"

"I'll be okay…" He whispered, mirroring her words back.

She made an odd noise between a laugh and sob before pulling from the embrace, "Whatever happened to 'okay' being an insufficient term of description that has lost its meaning due to mass appropriation?"

Spock was surprised she remembered that at all. It had been years ago, his first visit to Earth in fact, when he'd been utterly unable to deal with his young Human cousins' unfortunate obsession with the word. That she still recalled the event…it was…she was…

"Rest," she urged him, smoothing the hair across his forehead.

He couldn't, not now that they were newly reunited, not when he still had so much to tell her. Again, his mother seemed to sense his conflict and made the decision for him when she smoothed her hand over his eyelids to close them.

"Rest, Spock. I promise…your father and I will be here when you wake up."

Yes, they would.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, Lower Decks, year 2246_

There was a lot to do on a starship on any ordinary day but when four-hundred and fifty-eight people were disembarking on the same day? The logistics were torturous. Without Spock or the Vulcan's right hand man Lieutenant 0718, Jim Kirk was certain he'd be begging Bones right now for a shot in the arm. As it was, the sheer level of noise in the lower decks was starting to get to him. Despite all the heavy lifting and list-checking being done by the cyber-augmented Lieutenant 0718, the captain struggled to keep pace as they made their way through the department subdivisions.

At the insistent chirping from his belt, Jim flipped open his communicator, "Kirk here."

"Captain, I've got Approach Control calling us. They advise that the shipyard transporter relay stations are down for maintenance but the Starfleet base shuttle pad is available. We've been asked to open the hangar for shipyard shuttles to transport all of the crew planet-side."

"Sounds fine, let me know when we're ready to dock, Kirk out."

It wasn't his preference but nothing was perfect. Uhura was probably annoyed though, and so she should be. He'd worked as a temp in the communications office at Earth space dock and knew how crazy it got when everyone was trying to get off a ship. This whole day was going to be a mess. Shuttles stacked up, people at the wrong hangar, people getting separated from their group, everyone tired and hungry. Suddenly, a whistle sounded signifying a general announcement.

"Bridge to all decks," Uhura's voice was deceptively sweet. "The shore leave roster will be posted – _when it becomes available_. Consult your displays and do not call the bridge. We shall be docking in approximately one hour's time. Disembarkation will begin an hour after that. You shall be called to the shuttle hanger in groups. Again, check your displays for your group assignment and do not call the bridge. Repeat; _do not call the bridge_."

Many decks below her, Jim grinned. It was the same tone she had used during his third Kobayashi Maru test.

"Kirk to Engineering, how're you doing, Scotty?"

"Sorry, sir, this is Sengupta, Commander Scott is busy right now."

Jim rolled his eyes, knowing the highest-ranked redshirt well enough to guess what the man was up to. "Tell him to get his head out of the relay conduits, Ensign. We're docking in an hour and he's supposed to be locking down the engines tight."

"He's worried ah, sir, about the integrity of the engine room."

Jim Kirk cursed under his breath and hoped no one heard him. He knew he wasn't supposed to swear as the captain but seriously, Scotty's paranoia got him into so much trouble last time. "Is he setting up booby traps again?"

Instructed to avoid certain systems as they had been rebuilt by Scotty and Keenser, the last refit crew sent by the Starfleet Corp of Engineers to overhaul the ship had gotten _curious_. They were in for a shock as Scotty, not trusting in the integrity of his fellow engineers, had set up various booby traps. Needless to say, a few engineers ended up with blue hair for a week, one had an extreme allergic reaction and an angry call from Komack woke Jim in the middle of the night, two days into his week-long trek across Iceland with Sulu. Shore leave had been promptly canceled. Only Komack's familiarity with the eccentricities of his own Chief Engineer had prevented the situation from escalating into permanent marks on both his and Scotty's service records.

"You said no one was going to touch the ship!"

" _Scotty_ ," Jim growled, keeping his voice low so as to not draw attention, "Do not booby trap the engine room and that's an order!"

"Aye, Captain."

" _Scotty._ "

"Oh alright, _alright_! I cannae believe ye're just going to abandon ship, leave not a single soul on board and trust that no one is going to make off with her. We are from the _future_ you know! This is advanced technology right here!"

"There will be guards on round the clock shifts, all twenty-six hours and– hang on."

Jim nodded an affirmative to keep the Vulcan native flora samples in cryostasis; the lieutenant signed off on it for him and then gestured for them to move on to the Armory. He nodded and followed, giving up entirely on keeping pace.

"Listen, Mister Spock is going to be doing the final checks with you, and if you've got problems with leaving the _Enterprise_ in a _Vulcan_ shipyard staffed by _Vulcan_ engineers and _Vulcan_ security guards, you can take it up with him. Personally, I feel completely assured."

There was a long silence.

"Vulcans, ye say?"

"Vulcans, Mister Scott."

Everyone knew that Vulcans didn't lie – or rather they wouldn't lie to avoid the consequences of their own actions or for personal gain. If a Vulcan promised to not so much as touch the _Enterprise_ , one could take them at their literal word.

"I thought the SCE would be fixing her up, sir."

"Yeah I don't think they'll be bothering us."

Frankly, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had bigger concerns. The _Narada's_ joy ride through the Federation side of the Neutral Zone had left plenty of wreckage, racking up an impressive damage toll throughout Sectors 002 and 003 that was going to be occupying the service for the coming year and possibly longer. In fact, Starfleet HQ was pleased that the Temporal Prime Directive meant that they couldn't offer any assistance or be asked to offer any. Besides tools, parts and materials, the crew would have to put in the hours to make the _Enterprise_ flight-worthy themselves.

"I don't remember this being mentioned in our briefing."

"That's because we didn't talk about it in the general briefing, Scotty." He frowned, "Anyway, we had an update meeting this morning for senior staff and– actually, come to think of it, where were you?"

' _Ah_ …'

Jim decided that he didn't want to know. Up ahead, Lieutenant 0718 turned to look at him, waiting patiently with the Chief Armory Officer for his captain to catch up. Judging by the chronometer on the nearest bulkhead, they were already behind schedule.

"Look, the important thing is, lock down the engines for dry dock, make sure nothing dangerous is out and ensure that the long-term storage will have power for the week we're off the ship. I don't want Bones to return and discover all his vaccines have gone moldy. Spock's going to be checking in with you after he's through with the labs and knowing him, he'll be ahead of schedule. I'd like to get out and stretch my legs sometime before next century, Scotty, we're arriving in two hours – and you better be ready!"

Jim snapped the communicator closed and jogged to join the crew waiting for him.

Half a ship away, Montgomery Scott blinked down at the communications panel of the Chief Engineer's station, confused by the abrupt end of the conversation. He was about to call back, concerned there was an issue with the connection when someone stepped up behind him.

"Whaddaye want?" He snapped automatically.

"Mister Scott, you were missed at this morning's briefing."

"Commander!" Spinning around to face the First Officer, Scotty blanched. "Ah, about this morning, I can explain."

"That will be unnecessary. Doctor McCoy has already apprised me of your visit to Sickbay."

"He did?" Overindulgence in scotch whiskey was not usually considered a valid medical complaint. "I mean, good, _very good_."

"Shall we begin?"

Nodding vigorously, the man grabbed his datapad and followed after the Vulcan. "So, I've already compiled a list of the parts we're still missing…" he began, and the conversation flowed far more easily after that. After all, Mister Spock wanted to know about the state of the ship, and if there was one thing that Scotty could talk about forever, it was the _Enterprise_.

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet base, year 2246_

Admiral Jomel Perim of Trill looked up from the document she had been perusing at the sound of the door chime and took off her reading spectacles.

"Come," she barked.

The woman who stepped through the door was not what the admiral had expected. Tall for a human and in possession of pleasing features, Commodore Winona Kirk seemed ordinary compared to the stories that Barnett had told about the young tactical officer he'd mentored. Not well-known to the greater public, she had quite the reputation in Starfleet as the author of several controversial Academy courses on crisis resolution and as a survivor of the _Kelvin Incident_ , the widow of George Kirk. She had been an up and coming command officer in line to get one of the new fancy heavy cruisers years ago, but then she'd lived up to her reputation of being unpredictable by declining the commission to start a family.

"Admiral?"

The Trill smiled and gestured for the woman to take a seat, noting the sheen of sweat across Kirk's forehead. She reached for the pitcher of water she kept filled on her desk; visitors were always caught off guard by the heat of Vulcan, despite all the stories.

"Thank you for coming, Commodore. Water?"

"Yes, thank you," Winona Kirk sat down slowly, wary as she took the offered glass. "Sir, you called me here citing an urgent matter. Is there a problem?"

She supposed that depended on one's definition. The Trill glanced at the chronometer on the wall, and wondered when her other guest would arrive. Almost immediately after her thought, the door opened and Winona Kirk leaped to her feet in surprise. The Human ambassador to Vulcan entered without ceremony, waving a hand for his aides to stay outside.

"Ambassador Sundqvist," Admiral Jomel Perim said dryly, "Thank you for joining us."

After years of being posted together on this hot scorched planet, the commanding officer of Starfleet's base on Vulcan considered Simon Sundqvist to be a close friend and was used to the man's abrupt manners, but it still irked her. The ambassador, heavy-set with a head of thick white hair, noticeably gathered his thoughts at the sight of Winona Kirk then acknowledged the two of them. "Admiral, Commodore, I trust you are both well."

Winona Kirk snapped to attention, despite the furrow of confusion between her brows. Even from across the desk, Jomel could see the woman was itching to demand why she had been summoned away from her son's hospital bed.

"Commodore Kirk, I understand you were involved in the recovery of Ambassador Sarek's son."

"Yes, sir."

"The ambassador extends his thanks for bringing his son back. And honestly, Commodore, I can't thank you enough." The man heaved a sigh of relief, "Ambassador Sarek has great influence on the Federation Council's rulings and upon Vulcan politics; and he's never made a secret of his dislike for Starfleet. Your actions have set the foundations for a change in opinion."

Winona Kirk stared blankly back at the ambassador, clearly of the opinion she didn't care for Ambassador Sarek's gratitude and just wanted to know what this meeting was about. Jomel shared the woman's frustration, since Simon hadn't been very forthcoming when requesting this meeting with the Human commodore. He seemed perfectly happy to drag it out though, sitting heavily before gesturing for Kirk to do the same. He wiped at the sweat gathering at his temples and poured himself a drink, gulping it down swiftly. The commodore sat down, the stiffness of formality lingering in her pose.

"Have you ever been here before?"

"Yes, sir – the survival training exercise in my last year at the Academy was held on Vulcan."

The man nodded, "Good, good, so you have some knowledge of Vulcan."

"I've done the mandatory course."

Internally, Jomel winced at the brisk tone. If Simon were not an ambassador, Winona Kirk probably would have gotten up and walked away already.

"Good, good," the man murmured, and even before his eyes glanced over to meet hers, Jomel felt her Trill spots itch in anticipation. Being quite familiar with Simon's moods and ticks, the Trill saw how uncomfortable the man was – he seemed apprehensive, even unnerved by whatever it was that he had to speak to Commodore Kirk about.

"Now you're probably wondering why I've asked to meet with you today."

By the expression on Kirk's face, she was bemused with the procrastination. "It's crossed my mind."

"I'll admit right now that I'm not entirely sure of the situation. This has never happened before," the man smiled tiredly, "It's quite unprecedented. I hope, Commodore Kirk, you will hear me out before making any judgments."

The woman hesitated before giving a curt nod.

Ambassador Sundqvist cleared his voice, taking his time before speaking again. "Anyhow…Commodore, how is your son?"

"He's being treated at the Vulcan Academy Hospital and expected to make a full recovery."

Winona Kirk looked between the two of them. Jomel met the questioning look with one of her own, because she had even less of an idea where this was going.

"Good, good, I'm very glad to hear it. Lady T'Pau herself assured me that he would receive the best of care."

 _Lady T'Pau_? At that, Jomel raised her mental eyebrows.

Lady T'Pau was retired from public office but continued to serve in her ceremonial capacity, officiating rites of passage and other cultural events. She was the most respected Vulcan elder on the planet, and one of the most influential Vulcan figures in the Federation. The admiral couldn't fathom the connection, and it seemed neither could Winona Kirk, judging by her blank stare.

Clearing his throat again, Ambassador Simon Sundqvist continued on, quiet and uncertain, nothing at all like his usual vocal self. "As the highest ranking member of her clan, Lady T'Pau approached me this morning regarding your son, Commodore Kirk. She wished to extend an offer for your son to bond with Ambassador Sarek's son. Now I know this is a probably a strange request, but I ask that you consider it seriously. "

Admiral Jomel Perim blinked, not sure that she was hearing this correctly. The commodore evidently shared her doubts, uttering a feeble, "Pardon, Ambassador?"

"It's a proposal, Commodore Kirk, to join your son with Ambassador Sarek's son. It's a betrothal really – I think that's a better term for it. I'm afraid we don't really have a word for it that matches the equivalent in Vulcan – and of course, there will be marriage, later on that is…" The man finished awkwardly, seeing that Winona Kirk had not stopped staring at him in disbelief.

"Marriage…" The woman said slowly, "Ambassador Sundqvist… I'm sorry, but I think there's been a mistake – my son is thirteen years old."

The ambassador cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, yes, as I said, it's really more a betrothal than anything else – a proto-proposal."

"A _proto_ -proposal," Kirk repeated in bewilderment.

As the CO on base, Admiral Jomel Perim knew about the Vulcan practice of telepathically bonding children together for the purposes of facilitating a marriage later in life. Many non-Starfleet staff at her facility initially met their spouses in this way, bonded together as children – and hypothetically Jomel had no problems with it. She could understand Kirk's shock though; arranged marriages were viewed as an outdated practice on Earth, and their continued practice could be seen as being at odds with Vulcan's image as a highly advanced people.

"Sir, my son is thirteen, Ambassador Sarek's son isn't much older than him – you're talking about _children_ here, Ambassador."

"It's actually a very common practice here on Vulcan. Children are paired as young as seven years old and encouraged to spend time together as they grow up. Later on, when they're both adults, they decide whether or not they will go through with the marriage – through an actual proposal which would then be made and accepted."

Kirk narrowed her eyes. "As standard practice, sir, shouldn't Ambassador Sarek's son already be betrothed?"

The admiral decided then and there that she liked Winona Kirk. The woman was _sharp_ and didn't mince words.

"And he was, but he was missing for a very long time, Commodore."

Her old friend went silent, looking all of a sudden exhausted now that the main thrust of his message had been delivered. The admiral sympathized. She had been under pressure to locate the kidnapped boy, work with local authorities and investigate how it had been allowed to happen in the first place as well as keeping up with the day to day running of the base. It had probably been much the same for Simon.

"Now, I've asked to meet with you, with the admiral as witness," he gestured to Jomel who glared back, because she would have liked some warning about the contents of this meeting, "as per Vulcan custom. You are certainly within your rights to decline and no one would fault you. However, I understand you are being re-posted immediately to the _USS Monchezke_ , and your son will need suitable legal guardianship."

Kirk gave a small nod. "That's right, sir."

"I know you've put in a request for him to board at Marseille Academy but due to his current need for medical care and physical therapy, they've declined to take him on. The same problem presents itself in your attempts to find someone to take guardianship of him, which means that in two weeks time, your son will be left without a legal guardian on planet."

Impassively, the woman nodded – only the clench of her fists gave away her frustration with the situation.

"Under agreements ratified when the Federation was formed, Vulcan child-bonding is recognized and treated as it is under Vulcan law. In other words, if you did consent to the bonding, well…" The man smiled, "According to Vulcan law, the bonded child will be considered a family member of his or her betrothed's clan – Ambassador Sarek and his wife would be your son's legal guardians. They've also offered to take on your son, even if you decide to reject the bond."

Jomel read between the lines: Ambassador Sarek and his wife were offering to take care of the child in hopes that the commodore would feel obligated to reconsider in a few years time. It was the kind of offer that someone with Ambassador Sarek's reputation would make; by taking on the guardianship of James Kirk, they would still get what they want regardless of the commodore's stance on the bonding. Never let it be said that the Vulcans couldn't be cunning.

There was a short terse silence as Winona Kirk stared at the ambassador, her expression giving nothing away. The hands resting on her thighs remained fisted.

"That's a lot to take in, Ambassador."

"Understandable," Simon nodded, "and of course, you are not expected to make a decision right away."

"Of course," Kirk stood.

Admiral Jomel Perim got to her feet as well, on edge from the tension in the air. She knew that Simon meant well, but if it had been her on that side of the desk? She'd probably react about the same way.

The woman turned to her, "I have a staff meeting in twenty minutes, sir. May I be dismissed?"

Jomel didn't call her on the blatant lie and ignored Simon's aborted attempt to stop Kirk from leaving, "Dismissed."

There was a sharp exhale and with a nod to both of them, Commodore Winona Kirk left.

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet base, year 2246_

Christopher Pike stared out the wide expanse of windows in the quarters assigned to him for the duration of his stay on Vulcan. It was an impressive view, by anyone's definition. He could see a sand storm off in the distance across the flat red plains, and if it wasn't for the iconic silhouette of the Forge peeking through dust clouds to the far left, he would have thought that he was on Mars. Despite his post at the _40 Eridani A Starfleet Construction Yard_ before his transfer to the main Academy campus, he'd only been on Vulcan itself a few times and never for shore leave. Not that this counted as shore leave; this was more of a pause while Starfleet Command made a decision about his next posting, but he would take any downtime offered after the last few weeks of excitement.

Taking another sip of his coffee, he jerked around in surprise as the door to his room hissed open. Winona Kirk charged inside and promptly threw her communicator at the wall with a furious snarl. Her long dark blonde hair, usually sleek and tied up, looked as if it had been attacked by a Myrmidon wind devil. He wondered what had happened, if he should be concerned but then relaxed as he realized that it couldn't be Starfleet business. If it were, she'd be hustling every department head to the shuttles and ready to warp out already.

"Bad news?"

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose and gave no indication she'd even heard him. Sighing deeply, Pike left his perch on the back of the sofa and went to pour her a cup of coffee. She looked up when he pressed it into her hand, her eyes red with frustrated tears.

"Jimmy alright?" He asked gently.

He had never met James Tiberius Kirk before yesterday, when he accompanied Winona and Doctor Lee and El Ghazzali to the Vulcan Academy Hospital. It was strange, meeting the boy who would grow up to become 'Jim.' Though he was certain that Jimmy knew exactly who had rescued him and _when_ that ship had hailed from, Pike couldn't ask for any confirmation; the official Starfleet stance was that the temporal displacement was classified and thus not for public discussion – period. Pike wondered what he'd think if he met his future self – and if he would have a paunch or have lost his hair. It was probably better not to know.

"Jimmy's fine," Winona dismissed, taking an angry gulp of coffee. She rubbed at her face, cheeks still red from the heat outside. "You've heard the latest news?"

He shook his head.

"I'm been reassigned to the _Monchezke_. I ship out in a fortnight to _Epsilon 6_ and will be taking over from Esikanu – she's retiring."

Pike sat down, surprised. The _USS Monchezke_ was an updated Einstein-class vessel, much like the _Kelvin_ and the only deep space science vessel currently in service. The ship was a sought-after post for command officers specializing in the sciences, and Winona had probably had her eye on that particular chair for years. The fact that Starfleet was giving it to her was meant to be a reward. Headquarters was commending Winona on a job well done without the commendation medal, and thus avoiding a lot of awkwardness involving the non-existent _USS Enterprise_ currently parked at the _40 Eridani A Shipyard_. It couldn't have come at a worse time though.

"Jimmy is going to be here for months, maybe even a year; he needs surgery for his leg and then there's all his physical therapy to get through, and all the other stuff…" Winona sighed, running a rough hand through her disheveled hair. "I thought Marseille Academy would take him – he's got the grades – but they don't have facilities to continue that level of care and I can't stay here, not when–"

She fell silent and took a deep shuddering breath.

Pike commiserated with her.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

"I can guess."

Everyone knew that the _Monchezke_ was doing groundbreaking work. Starfleet had no fleet dedicated to science vessels, but if there were one, the _USS_ _Monchezke_ would be their flagship.

"Congratulations, Commodore, you deserve it."

Straightening to stare him in the eye, Winona smiled bitterly. "I haven't said yes yet."

 _Why not_ , was on the tip of his tongue before he quelled it because he knew why: Jimmy.

"What about…?"

He'd been about to ask if George Junior could take care of Jimmy instead, but that was a silly idea. The age difference was three years, which meant George Junior himself probably needed parental guidance. He realized as he thought about it that Winona had few options; Frank was out of commission, George's mother was in a care facility and Winona's brother, Johnny, was toughing it out on a new mining colony. Short of foster care, there wasn't much Winona could do – and it seemed even that wasn't an option given his injuries. Unable to offer any useful suggestions, Pike stood to grab a _ghasva_ from the fruit bowl.

"Here," he held it out, "Eat something."

"I'm fine."

"You haven't eaten since breakfast, which if I remember correctly, was _plomeek_ soup at dawn."

Winona smiled weakly and took the offered Vulcan fruit. She squeezed the edible pulpy seed from the ripened loose skin with ease and ate it in three mouthfuls. "Jimmy likes this. He says its raspberry jelly with the texture of mangoes."

Remembering the source of her conflict, she let her smile fade and dropped the empty skin into her half-drunk coffee. "Chris, what do you know about Vulcan bonds?"

He sat down on the sofa opposite, not sure where she was going with this. "Not much, but I did come to know a few of the senior Vulcan engineers who worked at the shipyard."

"Were they married?"

Pike blinked at the unexpected question. "Yes, I suppose. I don't know about the others, but two of them, Kuvan and Silik, they were older and I remember them telling me about their wives."

Winona looked up, interest bright in her eyes. "Did you ever meet them?"

It took a moment for Pike to dredge up the memories from years ago; an elder Vulcan woman with soft features, unassuming and dignified, comfortable at Kuvan's side. She had grey hair and had been striking for her age. "Kuvan was a senior engineer, so he was invited to a few Starfleet functions – he particularly enjoyed christening ceremonies. His wife came along a few times, and sometimes, he even brought his grandkids."

Winona seemed confused to hear about the Vulcans permitting children to come to an important function. Pike grinned, understanding her surprise. "Best behaved five year olds I've ever had the pleasure to meet. They were dressed in little formal robes and everything."

"Have you kept in contact?"

Pike shook his head sadly.

"He died, shortly after his wife did. They had a telepathic bond and he declined the offer to have it removed when she passed."

Taking a breath to shake off the memories, he got up to return his empty coffee cup to the replicator.

"What's with all the questions, Winn? Vulcan marriage? Has someone proposed to you?"

He said it as a joke, but actually, that wouldn't surprise him. Vulcans found competence compelling and Winona Kirk was just about one of the most competent people he knew. At the back of his mind, Pike considered the possibility that she was trying to talk a Vulcan into accepting her proposal for marriage, thereby securing another parent for Jimmy. But that was crazy; Frank was on Earth, _in hospital_ , waiting for her and he had a hard time imagining Winona being the type to throw a person over for the next best offer.

"There's a proposal," she admitted quietly.

Christopher Pike froze where he was. "What?"

She gave a frustrated huff and jumped to her feet, " _Not me!_ Dammit Chris, it's – it's Jimmy! He's gotten himself involved with that Vulcan kid – I mean," Winona swirled on her heels and stalked to the other end of the room, her hand gesticulating in a wide arc as she struggled to find words.

The only Vulcan kid that Pike knew about was the half-Vulcan half-Human son of Ambassador Sarek. But that couldn't be right.

"I just had the strangest meeting with an admiral, Ambassador Sundqvist tried to convince me to _surrender_ Jimmy so he can be raised on Vulcan, then Ayoub tells me that T'Pau, _the T'Pau_ , wants to set up an appointment to _discuss arrangements_ , and my CMO just confirmed that if I pull the plug on this, someone could _die._ "

Pike tried to put the pieces together. He knew Ayoub – he was a communications officer, but – "Wait, _T'Pau – the T'Pau?_ "

Winona spun to face him and they shared an equal look of amazement. The Vulcan matriarch had signed the original Federation Charter document almost a hundred years ago as a young woman, and was one of the few historical figures still alive from that period. Pike had never met her, not even from a distance, as she rarely made a public appearance – for T'Pau to try and make an appointment _to see you_? This was serious, he realized.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Winona heaved a sigh and then threaded her fingers into her hair as she began to pace along the window. "Basically as you know, Ambassador Sarek's son was with Jimmy on the Romulan ship. They formed a telepathic bond, and now the ambassador wants to formalize it."

"Jimmy's a bit young."

" _That's what I said!_ " She covered her eyes, exasperated. "But most Vulcans do this when they're seven."

Now _that_ , Pike hadn't known. For a long moment, neither of them said anything as Winona continued pacing, hands digging into her scalp and looking downright exhausted despite it being midday.

"Is he married?"

"Is who married?"

Winona shot him an annoyed look, " _Jim_ , the captain of that ship we don't know exists parked over at the shipyard – you know, _my son from the future_."

"I don't know if he's married. Why are you asking me as if I do?" He blinked, "How did _you_ …?"

"Dammit Pike, stop treating me like some first-year cadet here. I can read between the lines."

Yes, she was excellent at that, Pike thought wryly. There really was no way of keeping secrets from this woman.

"Plus anyone with _eyes_ can see that he's a Kirk."

Maybe to her, but no one else had noticed.

"And that Vulcan first officer of his," Winona frowned. "I don't know how they get along. He was so cold, so clinical, and every second thing he said was a criticism. I counted at least seven times when he cut in – I'm seriously surprised no one called him up on it. You hear what he said about my decision to attack?"

"He did follow it up with a compliment," he reminded her, not sure where animosity was coming from.

She didn't respond and stared out into the storm again, which had moved since Pike last took notice of it. Sensing that there was something she wasn't telling him, he made a pot of Vulcan spice tea to cut down on his caffeine intake and grabbed two empty mugs from the replicator. The delta logos on them were surrounded by a wreath of stars and he noticed _'live long and prosper'_ was printed across the other side in Vulcan, which was a nice touch.

"I don't like him," she stated firmly. "I don't like his expressionless face, or– or his stupid bangs."

Certain now that he was missing a crucial piece of information if she had started in with the name-calling, Pike returned to his place on the sofa and poured the tea. "Winn, you spent _two_ hours with him."

Winona Kirk had always been quite interested in alien cultures and peoples, influenced greatly by the concept of rejoicing in one's differences with others. It was why her First Officer had a tendency to be from a non-Human background. She liked having another perspective – an alien perspective – she felt it gave her an edge, a way to look at things from another angle. So he couldn't figure out what it was that made the Vulcan First Officer of the _USS Enterprise_ so different that she should have such a negative opinion of him. Vulcans were rare to Starfleet, so far eschewing Officer School to serve as administrators, engineering contractors, liaison staff or civilian scientists. If this First Officer was as hardworking and conscientious as every other Vulcan that Pike had had the pleasure of knowing, he was probably an exemplary Exec.

"You don't understand," Winona sighed as she joined him, dropping down into her previous spot.

"Then make me understand."

There was another long silence, and Pike, having just about given up on the conversation, was about to suggest they go have lunch at _Angelo's_ when she took a deep breath and said: "The _Enterprise_ 's First Officer, he's Ambassador Sarek's son from the future."

Christopher Pike liked to think of himself as a person not easily surprised, but it sure seemed to be happening a lot lately.

He hadn't paid much attention to the Vulcan teenager that had been rescued from the Romulan vessel with Jimmy, accepting the official report that Ambassador Sarek's son had been taken for leverage. Now he wondered if he should have looked closer. The boys shared a room at the Vulcan Academy Hospital, and seemed to get along fairly well when he'd visited yesterday. Knowing this same boy would in the future go on to join Starfleet and become James T. Kirk's First Officer? That was _some_ coincidence.

"Did he tell you this?"

Winona gave him a derisive snort, "Yes, we totally had a secret sharing session – no, of course not."

"Then this is _just_ conjecture?"

She shook her head slowly and reached for her mug, taking a long fortifying gulp. "No, I'm certain. They have the same eyes, the same speech patterns and the same posture – they have the _same face_. If they're not the same person, then I'm Zefram Cochrane."

He wondered if this entire situation was some twisted version of the Grandfather Paradox. That couldn't be right though; if the incursion into the past was what prompted both boys to enlist in Starfleet, they should have been a step ahead of the Romulan vessel as the last six months should have been personal history for Jim and his First Officer, but they hadn't acted like it was. Thus their timeline was presumably identical up until Jimmy and Ambassador Sarek's son had been kidnapped, and whatever events should have been were now altered forever.

"Do you think they're friends?"

"Jim and his First Officer?"

She nodded.

"They looked…comfortable."

Yes, Pike thought, they had seemed confident in each other and presented themselves as a united front despite their tendency to correct one another. Their disagreements had been amiable, even productive, the kind of disagreements that one ought to have in a command team. Their dynamics seemed to suggest that they'd been serving together for a few years, and perhaps even knew one another at the Academy.

"I don't think they're together," Winona announced but looked uncertain, "They can't be. They're the command team. I mean, there's the anti-frat regs to think about – HQ wouldn't change the rules about this kind of thing, would they?"

Pike took a sip of his tea to bide his time, thinking of an appropriate reply. When Starfleet had begun, the rules about fraternization and personal relationships on starships had been quite strict. Nowadays, as long as there wasn't a huge gap in the ranks between the involved parties, most relationships were simply ignored as one's personal business. Intimate relationships among officers in the same chain of command however, were still a grey area.

"They don't act like they're together."

He wondered who exactly Winona was trying to convince.

"You saw them for two hours, in an _official meeting_ where they were present in their capacity as COs."

"Are you saying they are? Chris, the guy's got the emotional capacity of a brick."

Pike shrugged, "No one knew you and George were even dating. Then the captain had you at his door with a request to marry you two on your next shore leave."

Winona looked oddly vulnerable as she cast her eyes to the windows again, gaze distant.

"Winn, you're talking about something you have no frame of reference for," Pike said gently, "You don't know these people. They're strangers – they're from an alternate timeline. So they don't act like they're together – but maybe they are, who knows. He's Vulcan, you've been around aliens long enough to know that you can't measure them by the same standards."

There was long beat before Winona's head dropped and she chuckled, "Diadu always loved a good insult. He used to start the day by telling me that I was becoming an old hag before his eyes."

It took a moment for him to place the name but when he did, he felt a pang of sympathy. Diadu had been the late Tellarite First Officer of the _Douglas_ , a personal friend among the bridge crew judging by the overheard conversations at the memorial service, and should have been first in line for the captaincy upon Winona's transfer to the _Monchezke_. Not sure how he could continue the conversation after the emotional landmine he'd just triggered, Pike waited.

A moment later, Winona took a shaky breath and put down her mug.

"I saw them, the kids, after the meeting with Perim. They didn't even know I was there. They were just talking, I couldn't hear what they were saying but that Vulcan kid, his face, it was just," she curled a fist like she was trying to grasp the right word from the air, " _blank,_ like he doesn't give a damn about anything."

"Reminds me of someone I knew once upon a time."

That got him a sideways glare. "Don't even kid about that."

Pike held his hands up in surrender and collected their mugs from the low table. "I shall say no more, but you know I'm right."

"You've got to be joking."

Placing the mugs down firmly on the kitchenette counter and rinsing out the pot, he shrugged and ignored the disbelieving glare trying to burn its way through his scalp. Winona joined him at the replicator as he returned the mugs and pot for disassembling.

"I am nothing like him!"

He smiled wryly in the face of Winona's irritation, letting his silence speak for itself. It was kind of funny actually, that she saw Jimmy as a reflection of herself and was evaluating Spock against the same standards she'd once pitted George against. But Pike had initially known George and Winona by their reputations as tutors; then later he'd gotten know them as friends, all before they'd even met one another. Frankly, she was totally kidding herself if she didn't see the parallels.

Obviously arriving at the same conclusion by her pained grimace, she spun on her heel away from him and resumed pacing the length of windows, digging her hands into her scalp as she tended to do when making a difficult decision.

Sensing that the conversation was on pause till further notice, Pike left the room to change for the outdoors. "Have you got plans for lunch yet?"

"No."

"Good, we're going out."


	28. Chapter 28

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Sato Campus, year 2246_

The last and only time he visited the desert planet, Jim Kirk had been preoccupied with making sure he didn't plummet to his death. There had also been Romulans trying to kill him, Romulans trying to blow up the planet, and Sulu falling without a chute. So while he had not had the luxury to take much notice of his surroundings last time, he did remember the heat; hitting the planet's atmosphere had been like jumping into a blast furnace. There was nothing quite like it – Vulcan was scorching. This time though, the searing wind that whipped across his face seemed more like a greeting, carrying with its caress bittersweet half-remembrances.

Though he had never been here, barring that one space dive. But Ambassador Spock had.

Despite Bones' warnings, Jim lowered his cloak's hood, seduced by the sultry hot breeze and the faint scent of ozone generated by distant sand storms that sprung up constantly like afternoon showers in Singapore. The echo of transferred memory sang through him, stirring up a swell of adoration.

Ahead, their greeting party approached; a Vulcan woman with impeccable hair dressed in a desert version of the enlisted personnel uniform led a disgruntled Captain Pike in his regulation ensemble. Having no such discomforts in his airy non-regulation robes, Jim grinned and leaped off the last step of the shuttle onto solid ground, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. As soon as his group cleared the flight zone, the shuttle doors snapped shut and blinkers flashed to warn everyone of its imminent takeoff.

"Welcome to Vulcan," Pike shouted over the whine of shuttle engines cycling, "This way!"

Jim glanced back to check on his people then fell into step with the older man, who stalked with purpose to a flat building emblazoned with a faded Starfleet Medical symbol. The triple-door airlock entry system kept out the heat and dust to the relief of many, but Jim didn't like how it also killed the scents so fundamental to the planet – the tang of ozone and a faint charcoal burn.

"This is Doctor Lee," Pike introduced, gesturing to an Asian man who turned from his datapad to examine the arrivals with great interest, "your crew will need to be checked over before being allowed to wander the base."

"Oh thank the Lord," Bones groaned, immediately accosting Doctor Lee by seizing the man's shoulders. "My good man, just show me where the tri-ox is."

Jim wondered if he should step in as Bones managed to brow-beat Doctor Lee into giving him access to the tri-ox and letting him in on inoculations, for he insisted the crew was his business; while Doctor Lee would only see them this once, he'd be stuck with them.

"I thought you said he was only rude when being fired at."

"Actually, this is him polite," Jim hid a laugh at the incredulous look on the older man's face.

"Why in the world did you make him your CMO?"

Before he could answer, a new voice cut in; "Captain Pike."

Spinning around, Jim found himself face to face with an elderly Vulcan man with gray hair and a craggy well-weathered face. Despite his obviously advanced age, he was the definition of robust and his eyes shone with alertness, his gaze reminding Jim of the way cats looked when hunting. He was clearly older than Ambassador Sarek, and yet not quite as old as Ambassador Spock.

"Ah Mister Sabek, thank you for coming on short notice," Pike smile, "Jim, may I introduce the groundskeeper, Mister Sabek. Mister Kirk here is the commanding officer in charge, and will coordinate with you regarding crew lodgings."

Sabek gave a deferent nod which Jim responded to with one of his own.

"I come to serve."

"Your service honors us," Jim replied on rote.

If Sabek thought it was strange for a Human to know the ritual words, the groundskeeper didn't bring it up as Pike left them to welcome the next batch of arrivals. The Vulcan immediately launched into a detailed description of their accommodations, the Syrran building, which was on the very outskirts of the Sato base. With full medical facilities, a transporter station and many public areas, the complex was entirely self-sufficient, powered by on-site solar collectors, and even had closed environmental systems just like one would find on the _Enterprise_. It had once been the base's main housing, hewn out of rock for camouflage as its construction period fell during the Romulan-Earth War. The continual expansion of Starfleet presence once the Federation Charter had been signed meant that within a decade, it had been outgrown. Despite the clinical language, Jim could tell that there was a sentimental attachment for groundskeeper, and Sabek was pleased to see it inhabited once more.

"It is directly connected to the Starfleet transporter network, but there is no direct connection to _Shikahr_. The only external connection available is the terminal in _K'lan-ne_ ; from there, one may travel to _Vomeek_ Plaza in _Raal_ to reach the main continent, before traveling onwards to _Shikahr_. Two transport monitors shall be on duty at all times..."

The Vulcan handed him a data card as he spoke on, which Jim gratefully accepted. While his memory was good, this was a lot of information to absorb and unlike Lieutenant 0718, his brain was not part machine.

"Here are the details of the transporter network, contact details for key support personnel, codes for the food synthesizers and industrial replicators, various catering arrangements available if needed, and blueprint specifications for your lodgings, Captain."

"Thank you, Mister Sabek."

"If you will attend to your medical requirements now," the groundskeeper said, "we shall begin room assignments."

"Of course," Jim felt his mouth stretch into an irrepressible grin.

Sabek's eyebrows quirked pointedly, obviously of the mind that the young Human captain wasn't moving fast enough. Spinning on his heel, Jim apologetically cut into the queue for the tri-ox injection and wondered if he'd just discovered a new universal truth: if you wanted a job done right, you didn't do it yourself – you got a Vulcan to help you.

* * *

_USS Enterprise, currently docked at 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yard, year 2246_

"Lieutenant, if I may be of assistance."

 _I'm fine_ , she almost snapped before recognizing who it was. Nyota Uhura paused in her struggle to shove her regulation travel case into the overhead compartment and turned to face the Vulcan. She waved for him to go ahead. Without even needing to strain himself, Spock reached up to the handle she could barely touch and fitted her case into a sliver of space left on top of all the other bags. Relieved that it was done, she grinned with tired satisfaction.

"Thanks."

Spock tilted his head regally in acknowledgement and took his seat, PADD in hand as he finalized last checks.

"Attention all passengers, shuttle to depart."

A thrum of audible anticipation went through the crew in the forward cabin. Relieved that she was finally off-duty, Uhura sank down next to Scotty who had somehow, amazingly, fallen asleep in the five minutes he'd been sitting down. Spock gave the man a look of deep Vulcan aggravation as the Scotsman began to snore opposite him, jaw slack and drooling. Hiding her snicker, she buckled in then cast her memories back to her very first meeting with the man where she'd called him a vagrant. Uhura smiled begrudgingly as Scotty's snores rose in volume, because while heading to a planet that shouldn't exist remained emotionally draining, at least the company was good.

"Cut him some slack." She met Spock's disapproval with exasperation, "I think he's been awake for four shifts."

"Which is barred by regulation and against direct medical orders issued by Doctor McCoy." The young commander studied the Chief Engineer's haggard face, "The Human body is not meant to withstand such stress – I do not understand; Ensign Chekov or myself would have been perfectly capable of understanding his instructions and overseeing their completion."

Uhura read between the lines with fluency and grinned; Spock was worried. "You know that he's intimidated by you, don't you?"

Spock cocked a considering eyebrow before turning back to his PADD. "I believe that Mister Scott proved since our first encounter that he delights in resisting the coercion of rank."

"True, but he respects you. The prospect of answering with anything less than a perfect all-ready to you is…" Uhura cast about for an appropriate word to make the Vulcan understand how much the older man respected him – "Daunting."

Spock did not reply, fingers lingering over his datapad. For anyone else, it seemed to be a dismissal but she only felt fond, being able to differentiate this silence as confusion, not censure. Oblivious to them, Montgomery Scott turned to the window with a grunt, his snores quieting with the change in posture.

"Lieutenant, I have not yet received a reply from the Sector 3 Requisitions Office."

"Chief Sivapakiam says that the quartermaster won't be able to fulfill our request until she receives a shipment from the _USS Musashi_."

"Has there been any progress on locating replacement phase transition coils?"

Uhura knew she was staring and most probably smiling like a fool. It had been a long day preparing the ship for lockdown, and then getting everyone organized to leave. With only two shipyard shuttles in service, it had taken all day to ferry everyone off. As ship's First Officer, Spock was always the last to leave but this was the first time that Uhura had been required to stay behind. Without the usual logistics support of Approach Control to keep track, she'd been needed on the bridge to coordinate. It had been a full shift of busy work, so frankly, she was behind on self-reflection time. She imagined that was doubly true for Spock – and yet he was calm, even comfortable. It was a good look for him; and though she had expected the successful completion of their mission to be cathartic, she wondered if…

Well, she imagined that there was nothing quite the same as meeting your own alternate self to reframe one's perspective.

The Vulcan's typing paused. "Lieutenant?" He prompted.

"The _USS Erzsebet_ lost their warp plasma distribution manifold, and they have priority. Also the USS _Montballen_ needs new phase transition coils for all their cargo transporters, so we will have to wait for the next convoy shipment." Uhura leaned forward, unable to keep her observation to herself, "You seem happy."

Spock looked up, taken off guard by the sudden declaration. Just as quickly, he turned his gaze away and tried to refocus. Was he that obvious?

Reaching out, Uhura placed a comforting hand upon the jut of his knee like she sometimes would when they talked – a moment after, she was reminded of the gesture's intimacy and pulled away before it could grow awkward. "I'm glad."

Though there was no agreement, the Vulcan made no direct verbal refutation either. "The mission is not over, Nyota."

No, it wasn't. Uhura allowed her gaze to drift out the side viewport. In all the fictionalizations or documentaries of Starfleet, this next part was rarely covered. They'd already laid the dead to rest and triaged the injured, but now came the months in between the climax and the epilogue: recovery. It was a crucial time for both ship and crew, and in their unique situation, the beginning of a new mission: to find a way home. It was possibly an even more harrowing exercise than tracking down and containing the _Narada_.

While that had threatened destruction and mortal peril, and demanded both daring and courage, this rested on their resolve and intellect, and a good dose of luck. Despite being safely ensconced in Federation space, they were under express orders to isolate themselves from any Starfleet personnel and minimize interactions with the civilian population, and would embark on repairing the _Enterprise_ without logistical support. Overall, their chances of returning to their timeline was theoretical at best and whimsical at worst.

Spock abruptly straightened. "Lieutenant – Uhura– Nyota."

With silent astonishment, she realized that he was stammering.

"As a friend, it is my wish to seek your advice on a private matter."

Nyota Uhura waited patiently, recognizing that this was unusual, perhaps even a pivotal moment in their personal association.

After a terse huff of breath, Spock began. "Though it was unwise to speak of a future made irrelevant by the many things that have happened in our timeline, I nevertheless conversed with Ambassador Spock at the conclusion of our maiden voyage…"

Feeling a growing sense of both dread and fascination, Uhura listened – and tried to imagine what a meeting between the Spock she knew and the one whom she had heard about from Kirk would be like, what meeting her own self from a hundred years in the future would be like. It was fantastical, something from a story.

"He informed me that in his timeline, he had a professional and personal relationship with the captain, and urged me to consider the benefits that our continued acquaintance could bring to Starfleet, and myself personally. He was confident…that despite our conflicting personalities and mindsets, we were uniquely enabled to urge one another to our full potential."

The barest suggestion of wonderment and confusion in equal measures creased his brow, both remembered and afresh.

"He expressed that despite his action having robbed me a future of some, if not all, that he knew, he would not have me deprived of the revelation of all that the captain and myself could accomplish together, a…friendship that would define us both in ways that I could not yet imagine."

It almost felt too much, to listen to all of this. In a few sentences, he had reframed her entire perception on the remainder of their relationship after that very first mission. Uhura noted the clear avoidance of Jim Kirk's name.

"I didn't know you two had met."

The implications of everything revealed by Spock stretched between them in an awkward silence.

"It was inadvertent."

She didn't point out that sticking around after the initial shock of meeting himself to speak to the ambassador wasn't inadvertent. Nor their discussion turning to Kirk. Nor that that his elder self had attempted some Vulcan form of _matchmaking_ to get Spock to accept his commission. And that it had worked.

"When did you talk?"

"We encountered one another at the shuttle bay, a week prior to the departure for _New Vulcan_."

A few days before the _Enterprise_ was due to jet off, and two weeks after she had already accepted her commission, under the impression that they were going to maintaining a long-distance relationship.

Looking as aggrieved as a Vulcan had any right to be – which is to say, not enough to calm a frustrated Human on the receiving end – Spock met her eyes, solemn. "I did not contrive to hide these facts from you, though you may come to that conclusion. I understood the ambassador's benevolent intentions, but I believed that my future could not be determined by his past – my future is my own, independent from his…"

 _But_ , she thought, there was always a ' _but_.'

She wasn't angry, disillusioned maybe, and perhaps even slightly petulant. Even if she had ended the relationship, she had at least thought Spock was serious enough about them to have considered her in his decision to be on the _Enterprise_.

"Was he right?" She asked, bitter.

A second later, she felt juvenile and wished she could take it back. Though she didn't know the ambassador, she knew Captain James Tiberius Kirk, a man wholly different from the Jim Kirk who had tried to pick her up. While she may have scoffed once upon a time at the idea that he could be of consequence to anyone, she respected him too much after three years of service to summarily dismiss it. She would go to the ends of the galaxy for him, and couldn't fault Spock if he felt the same.

"His idea had merit," Spock admitted, sotto voce. "Though I do not believe he meant for me to pursue the relationship beyond its bearing upon my career."

_Oh._

As a communications officer, Uhura knew that accurate comprehension of a conversation was as much about what was being said as what _wasn't_ being said. Her expertise in communications and personal experience with Spock had served her well in deciphering the science officer, but in this very moment, she doubted her interpretation.

 _Holy Asimov on a pogo stick_ , was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"The society we inherited lived with the aftermath of unprecedented devastation. I was…enticed, by the notion of achieving the vision set out by the ambassador. And freed from the burdens of rebuilding the Vulcan civilization by his undoubtedly more experienced presence in my stead, I accepted my commission." Spock spoke reluctantly, so quiet that he sometimes dipped below the humdrum of background conversation and she strained to hear him at all. "I did not expect an easy transition upon the _Enterprise_ , and for a time, I was correct. The captain…perplexed me, and I believe that I perplexed him in return."

Uhura would have snorted at that understatement if she wasn't distracted by the conclusion that Spock appeared to be leading her towards.

"When this changed, I was surprised, and pleased. Now…" Pausing to shore up his courage, Spock spoke on, giving no hint of nervousness except for an abrupt break in eye contact, "The captain has signaled that he would be willing to consider possibilities of an intimate relationship."

Bewildered by the direction this conversation had taken, and somewhat blindsided by the revelation that Spock wanted to date someone else and that _someone_ _was Jim Kirk_ , Uhura slumped back against her seat and resisted the urge to exclaim 'Wow' like a teenager. She wasn't sure how she felt. On one hand it made perfect sense – she had seen the two of them together. And yet on the other, she couldn't understand how this had happened – _when_ had this happened? She knew they were close, but that was like saying Doctor McCoy and Kirk were close, or Sulu and Chekov were close, or Scotty and Keenser were close. She saw them every day and despite their incredible command dynamic and friendship, she hadn't noticed _this_. And why was Spock even telling her? Sure, it was somewhat polite considering their history but–

In the potent silence, a single snore pierced the tension and deflated it as quickly as it had built up. Scotty had turned from the window, unnoticed by either of them, and had resumed his snoring. Their eyes met and if it were anyone else, they probably would have broken down in giggles, but one only raised an eyebrow while the other grinned.

"Are you asking me for permission?" Uhura probed, trying to understand where this was all coming from. "Spock, you don't need to do that. I mean, more or less, I broke up with you."

"Though our relationship was never formalized and largely exploratory, it was…for me, important."

Touched despite herself, she nodded, "Okay, well, thank you, for telling me – but, it's none of my business. Good luck with Kirk, I mean it."

"I appreciate your restrained approval."

Her smile turned wry.

There was another silence as both officers fell into contemplation.

For Uhura, she arrived at the conclusion that there was an ulterior motive for this talk, though unsure what it was, and decided to give Kirk the shovel talk on Spock's behalf once they started seeing each other.

For Spock, he wondered how he came to be here, in this moment. Against his own good judgment, he had come abroad the _Enterprise_ , uncertainty shadowing his every step. But his sense of impending doom gradually gave way to the daily marathon of life aboard with the young captain; Jim Kirk was energy in humanoid form, constantly in motion. He possessed formidable intelligence, acute perception, and despite what his outward behavior would suggest, a ruthlessly logical mind. His attention span was exhausting on one subject, while practically nonexistent on another, and he was possibly even more compulsively curious than Spock. He had enjoyed Jim's company and hadn't expected that. Or to begin telling tales of his planet, his experiments and all the worlds and peoples he had seen traveling with his father, night after night as they mapped stars and explored worlds.

A commotion from the front cabin drew both of them from their thoughts. The heightened emotions thrumming through the other crewmembers had reached a fever pitch now, as everyone seated to portside strained for a glance out the starboard viewports. Uhura turned to the viewport across the aisle and found herself arrested by the sight.

A solidly red-orange speck grew larger and larger. No one needed to murmur its name for they all knew; the tangible summation of all their sacrifice; their justification for taking the risk of never being able to get home again:

 _T'Khasi_ , _Minshara_ , _Ti-Valka'ain,_ Vulcan.

Uhura spared a small glance at Spock, feeling her eyes tear up as she caught the hint of tenderness that he tried to hide. A smile played upon her lips as she went back to enjoying the views.

"He likes Chinese food."

The Vulcan glanced at her, surprised by the non-sequitur. He didn't ask her to clarify who she was speaking of. Overhead, the pilot's voice informed them that they were entering the outer atmosphere and beginning their descent.

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Sato Campus, year 2246_

It was evening on Vulcan when his shift supervising the _Enterprise_ repairs came to an end, and Sulu arrived to take the conn. Now back at the base, Jim Kirk quietly entered the ambassadorial suite but walked past his shared bedroom, mindful that Bones had probably just gotten to sleep. The man needed every moment of it, as far as he was concerned. The day shift had started with engineers taking a tumble when a walkway decided to collapse, followed by a full-scale medical emergency that afternoon when flammable materials from a cannibalized torpedo caught fire in the main cargo hangar. Needless to say, Sickbay had been overrun.

After his shower, Jim followed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchenette he'd noticed coming in. It had already been tidied up but a covered plate was left for him beside a full pitcher of blue-colored juice. Jim sighed as he lifted the cover; a perfectly wholesome salad that looked about as appetizing as cardboard. Knowing the caterers wouldn't introduce anything harmful to Humans, he tried the drink instead. It was kind of like pineapple to his surprised pleasure, and Jim poured himself a second glass before looking to see if anyone was up.

A low light was shining in the living area. Jim thought it had been left on for him until soft strains of music drifted up the stairs.

Looking pale and uneasy, Chekov was lying on the couch with his arm flung over his forehead. Sitting in the adjacent armchair, Spock was strumming a Vulcan lyre, like the one he kept on board the _Enterprise_ except that this one appeared older, more worn – and Jim couldn't put a finger on it but it sounded different somehow to what the Vulcan usually tuned it to.

With unnerving precision, Spock turned to face him despite Jim trying his hardest to be quiet. Waving for the man to continue, he fell into the armchair opposite. It was of Vulcan design and thus hard as a rock, but several pillows which hadn't been there when he left for his shift added some much needed comfort. Jim wondered who he had to thank for this, Spock or Sabek.

The Vulcan ended the tune. "Good evening, Jim."

"Hey," he smiled tiredly.

On the couch, Chekov opened his eyes in response to the whispering, took in the fact that it was his captain and not the feared Doctor McCoy, and closed them again.

"Are you aware of Mister Torosian's current status, Captain?"

"He's stable – didn't Bones update you when he came back?"

"Doctor McCoy was in no state for conversation."

In short, Spock didn't have the heart to pester the exhausted doctor for all the details like regulations insisted a proper First Officer should. "Torosian is fine, all the others too, the hospital is holding everyone overnight. We're scheduled for a visit tomorrow – how's your arm?"

Pushing up his left sleeve, Spock held out his arm to show off the pseudo-skin patches, "Merely superficial damage."

Being first on the scene, the Vulcan hadn't held back on diving into the carnage to offer assistance to crew pinned underneath the wreckage, in turn getting quite a few nasty scrapes and cuts. Jim had heard about him being injured of course, but by then he'd been ankles deep in damage control while Spock went off to deliver the one unlucky crewman who'd managed to break a hip, an arm and a leg to the Vulcan Academy Hospital.

"Still, take it easy; I'm sure Bones would agree with me that you need a day off." As he said this, Jim frowned, his eyes raking down Spock's body and noting what the Vulcan was wearing. He knew what the man wore to relax, and those slim-fit trousers with matching charcoal jacket weren't it. The Vulcan looked like he was dressed to go out. Jim wondered what was happening tonight.

"I'm surprised you're still up. You and Chekov were both supposed to be asleep hours ago."

"I believe Mister Chekov is asleep."

They both turned to where the young ensign lay on the couch. In support of Spock's observation, Chekov gave a soft little snore before shifting to curl up on his side away from them.

"Is he okay?"

"Mister Chekov had retreated to his private room for rest but was unable to due to nausea and migraine symptoms. Doctor M'Benga diagnosed a mild case of Exoplanet Adaptation Syndrome."

He winced, because poor Chekov – being told you were somewhat allergic to the whole damn planet when you had to stay there for another few months had to suck. "We could send him back to the ship."

It wouldn't be unusual. Despite recommendations that living on the planet as opposed to staying on the ship while repairs were in progress was psychologically stabilizing, Scotty had packed up after his mandated week of shore leave and went back to his usual quarters, insistent that the repair effort would be best served by his continual presence in case of any mishap. Since they were actually on schedule, there was probably some truth to that.

"It is under consideration but for the moment, Mister Chekov is confined to the base until further notice."

Jim raised his eyebrows, surprised. "No hypo-shot? Usually I'm the last person to recommend it, but I would have thought letting Chekov get some rest would be the highest priority."

"As there is a need to monitor the progression of his symptoms, Doctor M'Benga decided against pain relief as they may dull the senses."

Jim nodded and studied the lyre comfortably cradled in Spock's arms, a smile trying to stretch his lips despite his best efforts to control it; the last thing he wanted was to come off as mocking. "So you decided to play him a lullaby."

"I offered to monitor Mister Chekov," Spock corrected dryly, "and help alleviate his symptoms."

"Of course," Jim conceded, fond.

A familiar look of warmth passed between them and suddenly it was like he was back there, alone with Spock in his quarters aboard the _Enterprise_ , the eve of the battle with Nero bearing down upon his shoulders and adrenalin pumping through his veins, heightening every sensation. Memories of what Spock tasted like, the heat of their bodies pressed together, came flooding back after being locked away for so long. Jim exhaled, a buzz of anticipation coursing through him, because here they were again, alone together.

On the sofa, Chekov let out a sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

Well, he thought with resignation, almost alone.

Spock silently rose, setting the lyre down in his vacated spot. "Though it is considered late by shipboard time, the evening has just begun in this part of the hemisphere and it would be a pleasing change to partake a meal at a local restaurant. If you are not averse to the suggestion, company would be much appreciated."

Smiling, Jim slid his fingers across the outstretched hand and felt an almost inappropriate thrill when he was easily pulled to his feet. "You read my mind, Mister Spock."

It had been a long time, so long that he felt almost giddy to be in the Vulcan's presence.

A week of mandated leave with Bones watching over the senior officers like a hawk had turned into long busy weeks negotiating for resources with local Starfleet, managing the rehabilitation of the injured and a gazillion other things. Despite attempts to continue with regular patterns of life by keeping a shipboard timetable, living on a planet with its own times of day made it close to impossible to keep up – and in turn, their private dinners ceased. Jim had forced himself to be content with lingering glances over shared group meals, official repair progress checks around the _Enterprise_ which gave the occasional moment of privacy, and a few games of chess. It wasn't the same though, since the senior staff shared their living space. While it was nice having M'Benga or Chekov commentate on games, Jim missed the fascinating rambling conversations that occurred over the chessboard when it was just them.

"So, where are we going?"

The Vulcan opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to reconsider.

"It would be easier to simply show you," he finally stated.

Taking the quick route to the transporters, he stayed behind as Spock spoke quietly to the clerk on duty. The Vulcan, dressed in the standard navy knee-length stiff tunic and trousers of public servants, seemed politely interested in their destination. If he thought it was odd for a Vulcan involved in classified Starfleet business to be taking a senior Starfleet officer out, he didn't twitch an eyebrow.

Moments after stepping onto the platform, the room dissolved in a flurry of light and they appeared in a busy transporter terminal, being ushered to the left by a young woman in a feminine version of the same navy uniform.

"This way," Spock murmured at his shoulder in the crowd, "Stay close, Jim."

WELCOME TO _K'LAN-NE_ , the signage on the disembarkation mat announced.

Jim was surprised; _K'lan-ne_ was the biggest city on this island and at three thousand klicks, it wasn't exactly close to the Starfleet base. Perhaps though, he had to readjust his concept of 'local restaurant' – Vulcan was almost twice Earth's size and possessed uninhabited areas large enough to encompass the United States.

Shuffling along behind Spock and trying to avoid elbowing anyone, Jim only noticed the crisp script over the grand arched exits when he was directly underneath them. _PLA'KHUSH_ SQUARE, it stated in severe blocky Standard. He grinned because, well, _Pla'khush_ Square? That Vulcans would call a place _Sapphire_ Square seemed uncharacteristically romantic. But before he had a chance to ask, they exited the building and hit the stairs. Any questions that Jim had were forgotten at the view.

An expansive open-air public square lay before them, guarded by striking pillars of red stone that towered over visitors and buildings alike. Visually struck by the engineering gone into their construction, he could sense the immensity of what had been attempted. Squinting, he realized one could just make out the image of a Vulcan in each pillar of rock, facial features and sweeping robes somehow disappearing into the furrows and lines of the stone to merge with it. With the well-positioned lights highlighting groves and lengthening shadows, it was pretty dramatic.

"They are representations of ancient gods, from before the time of Awakening."

"Ancient gods?"

"The ancient Vulcans practiced paganism," Spock explained, his voice falling into a rhythmic cadence. "They worshiped anthropomorphic deities that represented concepts such as war, death and peace, through acts of animal sacrifice and ritualistic competitions, not unlike that of the ancient Greco-Roman culture of Earth."

"Did you memorize that from the travel advisory?"

Spock shot him a look that sent laughter bubbling up through his chest. Charmed by how hard the Vulcan was trying, Jim swallowed down his guffaws and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you promised me dinner."

Jim Kirk had eaten a lot of food on a lot of planets in his three years careening about the galaxy, but at the end of the day, his favorite was still a toss between Chinese and a juicy steak. Unfortunately it was pretty rare to come across a decent Chinese restaurant, and cows didn't like space. This one was, naturally, situated near an annex campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. It was called _Pinocchio's_ and according to Spock, was owned by a Chinese family who had emigrated from Earth. Others would assume that a Chinese restaurant would be run by Humans, but Jim learned the hard way to _always_ check. Personally, he had enjoyed the Tellar attempt at Shandong chicken – though it was made with some local bat creature – but as a San Francisco native and the great-great-grandson of a proud Chinese-Filipino restaurateur, Sulu had been driven to tears. The visit to Bones after they had discovered the bat wasn't entirely safe for Human consumption was well, _messy_.

Of course, since Spock selected the restaurant, he knew the food would be safe; and since Spock had spent years living in San Francisco with Chinatown a shuttle hop away, he was certain that the place would be somewhat decent. The moment he stepped inside, Jim felt like he'd been transported back to _Madam Chao's_ , just adjacent to the main gates of Starfleet Academy, a favorite haunt of students and instructors alike with its decent servings of noodles, vegetarian steamed buns, black bean beef, and fried rice. Whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled delicious, and the hostess herself, a short slip of a woman with an accent as distinctive as Chekov's Russian, ran the joint like a drill sergeant.

Although most diners were Human or passed for one, Jim spotted several Vulcans, a merry group of Denobulans and even a Tellarite trio as they were led through the restaurant. Unlike _Madam Chao's_ , this place was not full of mismatched furniture and tacky posters. Crisp white linens, jade-green china, and gorgeous twisting-crystal tumblers imported from Parvonis IV made up the tables – which made Jim squirm because despite hoping this was a date, he wasn't expecting anything fancier than _Madam Chao's_ when Spock announced they were having Chinese. Soon however, he forgot about his discomfort, thoroughly distracted by the delicious food.

Though meatless, the mini steamed bun with its mashed chestnuts and pickled vegetables was delicious, and Jim ate two before moving onto the deep-fried garlic yam balls coated in Vulcan spices. They talked but if someone were to question him later, Jim had no idea what they talked about. Deciding to try the local brew, he drank more than he should have since his tolerance wasn't as it used to be; it wasn't enough to make him stupid but he was clearly tipsy. Soon, questions about the history of the area (ancient settlement – archaeological excavations were still in progress) and how Spock knew about this place (he remembered coming here as a child with his mother and her friends when they visited) turned into more random conversation. It jumped from Andorian mating rituals to how twisting-crystal was invented, then Jim declared he would gladly become a vegetarian if he got to eat these delicious steamed buns every day and whether Vulcans should actually be classified as vegans, and then somehow he started yammering about the croaky pipes in the old house back in Iowa, and mystifyingly, baked goods.

"You know what I miss most since leaving for Starfleet?" Jim chased his spoonful of vanilla _yarduk_ pudding across his bowl, "A decent oven. There's nothing like freshly baked bread."

"There were several bakeries on site at the Academy, and the _Enterprise_ possesses a galley kitchen as well as replicators which can be programmed to produce any type of bread you desire."

"I know, I know – but it's not the same, Spock! Back in Iowa, I made my own bread. I used to knead the dough till it was crying for relief and lemme tell you, it makes a difference – oh the texture! And there's that smell, that freshly baked yeasty _smell_ …hmm…" Jim groaned in remembered pleasure around his spoonful of pudding.

"This discussion is most illogical," Spock declared, "And you are inebriated."

Looking up, Jim opened his mouth to argue otherwise – on both statements – but the sight before him closed up his throat.

Sitting primly in his chair and looking as attentive as if he were with the most interesting person in the galaxy, Spock bore a serene expression, that non-smile where his eyes were alight with an almost mischievous gleam and his lips were curled at the edges. To anyone else, he was probably as aloof as always, but Jim knew his Vulcan officer, his _friend_ , too well to mistake it for anything else; Spock was indulging him.

As it sank in, Jim ducked away from the watchful gaze, alcohol-flushed cheeks heating up even more, "I'm telling you, freshly baked bread – _ambrosia_."

"Then when our mission is complete, you shall have to induct me into its appreciation, so that I may make my own judgment."

Jim tried to stop his smile from going dopey but it probably went there anyway. It didn't matter though as nothing could be worse than Spock's first impression of him – a face-down at a disciplinary hearing on opposing sides followed by an all-out hair-tugging fist-slugging fight? But they were friends anyway.

And after tonight, well… they would become something more.

"You have yourself a date, Mister Spock."

With a look that said he would be holding Jim to that promise, Spock signaled for their bill.

Leaving the restaurant through the back door with assistance – let's just say that being tipsy in heavier gravity was not good – he was in the middle of declaring that they needed to come again and to bring the gang next time when he suddenly stopped speaking, unable to believe his eyes. Hanging up high to the far left side was a moon, heavy and round, glowing brighter than even the biggest harvest moon back home.

"Okay, Spock, tell me if I'm wrong, but I am pretty sure Vulcan doesn't have a moon."

"You are correct, Jim, that is the sister planet, _T'Kuht_."

"The Watcher," he translated, frankly amazed that his synapses were still firing.

"Yes," Spock agreed, giving him an appreciative glance. "It is in an eccentric orbit which brings it close enough to see with the naked eye approximately once every fourteen point six Human years."

"It's beautiful."

A companionable silence fell as they wandered down the street.

"In fourteen years time," Spock murmured, close enough that their shoulders brushed, "It shall be even closer, an event which has not occurred since Earth's mid-twentieth century. At that time, the planet will fill half the sky if viewed from the Mount Seleya observatory, and for twenty one days, the night sky will appear as bright as dusk."

Tucking his hands into his pocket to control his urge to touch, Jim felt abruptly and uncomfortably sober. What his first officer was speaking of never came to pass – for them at least – as in another fourteen years, the planet was already gone. Though Spock's face remained serene, he had to be thinking the same thing; they were walking on a planet that didn't exist, enjoying an astral event that didn't happen anymore. Pensive, Jim examined the artfully patterned lighting that spilled across the paving stones under their feet, unsure what to say. The patterns were lovely and fittingly pragmatic, lighting up the streets yet not obtrusive enough to be distracting.

"It's a renowned tourist attraction," Spock continued, a faraway look on his face, "and will draw many visitors."

The Vulcan turned back to face him abruptly, as if shaking off his thoughts. "If you are amiable we may travel to _Raal_ , there is a well-known lookout point at a science outpost in the middle of the _Sas-a-shar_ desert."

Dinner, a walk and _stargazing in the desert on an alien planet_ – Jim tried to school his face because seriously, was there a checklist somewhere that Spock was ticking off?

"You realize that's on another continent."

"There is a transporter station at the science outpost. I have already checked with the relevant authorities and was informed that all may freely access the public areas, including the viewing platform and auxiliary observatory."

He might as well have said something romantic for the way that Jim felt in response, because dammit, the man had obviously thought this through.

The reflective glow of _T'Kuht_ appeared even brighter in the desert. Painfully aware that he was witnessing something that no one would ever seen again in their universe, Jim memorized every passing moment until they sank into his very bones. Spock shared in his reverence, their elbows brushing. Below them, the usually red and brown desert were shades of mauve and blue in _T'Kuht's_ soft light. They were not alone, as other Starfleet personnel were also enjoying the view, their general chatter and coos of awe filling in the silence, but no one bothered them.

After some minutes had passed, Jim bumped their shoulders together, "Dinner was great, but just so you know, don't think I've forgotten the fact that you nerve-pinched me."

"I do not know to what you refer."

"I'm still including it in my log. HQ is gonna know about it. There may even be a meeting."

"I would never expect otherwise."

There was something in the delivery, in the body language, in the expression on Spock's face. Jim wanted to lean forward and catch those lips with his, to finish what they had started on the ship, to run his hand over the curve of that angular cheek, cup that sharp jaw, and curl his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Spock's neck.

Feeling as though he were stepping past some invisible barrier, Jim touched the elbow closest to him and slipped his hand into Spock's. There was a moment of hesitation but then Spock's fingers closed around his, strong and certain. Something inside him gave a sharp painful tug. Unlike the scenarios Jim had imagined, no one turned to look at them. In fact no one took any notice at all.

Spock glanced down to where their hands were clasped, hidden by the closeness of their bodies. "Please be sure to include your report that I stand by my decision; under the circumstances, it was the only logical solution."

Jim almost laughed. "Well, then you'll like this part."

Grabbing Spock by the back of the neck, he kissed him. At first the angle was all wrong and there was no response, but then Spock was pulling on the hand he still held and his other hand was clutching at Jim's hipbone, lips soft and yielding as the kiss deepened till they were sharing breath, entranced by one another. They broke apart at the sound of people approaching. Jim panted for air as he pulled away, a little shocked that it had escalated so quickly. Blushing, he turned his attention back at the night sky. Besides him, Spock did the same, a faint green tinting his cheeks.

For a long time they stood there, contemplating the vista above even as their skin pricked with the frisson of desire that simmered between them, unmoving except to point out a star here, a comet there. Sometimes, these movements lead to brushes between hand and elbow, or more dangerously, hand with hand; there was always a brief entanglement of their fingers during these encounters. Finally, Jim noticed that people were starting to leave.

"It's late," he murmured, not watching to break the spell over them but having to say it – because it was late, and despite how wonderful this entire evening had been he _was_ tired. He could only imagine how tired Spock must be as he'd been awake for even longer.

"Very."

"You have a shift starting in five hours."

"I need significantly less rest than yourself."

As much as he wanted to stay here, he would never forgive himself if Spock was so tired for his shift that he might endanger himself or others. "Spock –"

"Jim," Spock countered, "Ten additional minutes shall not impinge upon the quality of my rest."

"Ten minutes," Jim agreed, because he didn't want to leave either in all honesty.

It only took another five minutes for the place to almost completely empty, and free from the inhibition of witnesses, they resumed what they had begun.

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Shikahr City, Vulcan Academy Hospital, year 2246_

Doctor Leonard McCoy was having a rotten day. Or night. After a standard shift on the ship, the last thing he felt like doing was trooping all the way to _Shikahr_ to do his regular check up on the crew still being treated at the Vulcan Academy Hospital. It wasn't that he didn't like his work – he liked it fine – but the schedule that Spock and Scotty had cooked up between the two of them was edging on madness! Shore leave only ended two months ago and already he felt like a holiday.

He was no engineer but even he could tell that they were trying to slap the ship back together in a half the time that a regular refit would take with half the necessary crew needed. Now, he wanted out of here as much as anyone else, but the heavy workload meant long hours, people trying to take on more than they ought to, and random crew pitching in to help out when really, they were just _not qualified_.

Accidents were starting to happen, and not good ones.

He'd already aired his grievances, throwing down an ultimatum that Scotty and Spock were going to need to work on reducing hours, because the amount of injuries walking through his sickbay doors were unacceptable. There was simply no reason to work the crew like it was wartime when the fight was over. Thankfully, Jim agreed and had backed him up, because considering their situation, dragging back their flight date another few weeks hardly mattered.

No one said it aloud but you didn't have to be telepathic to know what everyone was thinking: despite all the effort to repair the ship, there were no guarantees that they would ever return to their timeline. Spock was on it with Chekov though, looking through their options with a team of scientists and two specialists on loan to them from the DTI.

Sighing heavily at the thought of the months ahead of them, McCoy slowed his pace as he rounded the corridor to the rooms housing the _Enterprise_ crew. Most of the beds were empty, but a few familiar faces looked up and waved as he walked past. The doctor noted Sulu and Uhura holding court at a table with Hendorff's group of redshirts as he passed the spacious indoor garden courtyard set aside as in-patient leisure space. He didn't stop though, continuing on down the corridor and going upstairs to visit his youngest patient.

"Jimmy?"

The sole occupant of the room looked over from her careful examination of a potted plant on the window sill, the shimmering material of her robes gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

Caught off guard, McCoy came to an abrupt stop.

"Doctor McCoy," Amanda Grayson greeted, a warm smile upon her face. "I was told to expect you."

"Ma'am," he nodded, falling back on the good old fashioned manner instilled in him by Aunt Gladys.

They might have never met face-to-face but he'd been teleconferenced in when the Vulcan healers had discussed Spock's condition, and so they were hardly strangers. She was a regular in this room, judging by his perusal of the visitor logs – the only other visitors who attended regularly were Ambassador Sarek and Winona Kirk, and that was every other day. Amanda Grayson visited every day, sometimes more than once. She was one dedicated mother, as far as he was concerned, and a classy lady. It was the first time he'd bumped into her though, since her visits were daily appointments while his schedule was all over the darn place; seeing her in the flesh was a little strange really.

The woman who was meant to be Spock's mother was of average height and slender, her dark eyes instantly drawing comparisons with the First Officer that he so enjoyed ribbing. Without the fancy robes and complex hairdo, McCoy could imagine her taking coffee and cake at some random San Francisco street corner café.

Sensing his distraction, she quickly stepped away from the mess that was Jimmy's bed. "Oh please don't let me stop you from what you need to do; I promised to take the boys to lunch, you see."

At his raised eyebrows – because the boys were not cleared to leave the grounds of the hospital if he had anything to say about it – her smile widened as she added in a hurry, "We're doing a picnic in the hospital gardens. I've brought ham and pickle sandwiches for Jim, and Spock's favorite salad; root vegetables and dried _gespar_ with _skonvu_ dressing."

"That sounds wonderful," McCoy deadpanned, a lie if he ever heard one.

Her smile turned knowing and he cleared his throat, chagrined to be caught disparaging a woman's cooking. That was another thing one learned living with any McCoy – food prepared by a lady was to be eaten and appreciated, without any of your darn cheek thank you very much.

"I'm sure he'll love it."

Thankfully she was bemused rather than offended.

"The boys will be back soon. I arrived just as they were being taken away for some test," she said, answering his unspoken question. "I believe it was ordered by the nutritionist."

"I see, right, well, then please excuse me," McCoy gestured vaguely to the built-in monitors above Jimmy's bed and resisted the urge to straighten his plain black undershirt, having no doubt that his appearance was less than regulation.

"Of course."

Moving to the open displays, the doctor kept his eyes on his PADD as Jimmy's medical details were updated and changes were imputed in accordance. He couldn't quite manage not to notice the swish of Amanda Grayson's skirt hem against the cold granite of the hospital ward floors though, or the little noises she made as she returned to examining the various 'Get Well' foliage on Jimmy's windowsill. He wondered if he was supposed to speak, and was just about to make an attempt at chit chat when a shout at the door startled him into whipping around.

"Hey Doc!"

Leonard McCoy allowed a crooked grin before steeling his face to unimpressed, "What did I say about energy conservation?"

Jimmy's answering grin was irrepressibly gleeful. "What? I can't get excited to see you?"

McCoy snorted because if there was another thing universal to Jim Kirks, they were certainly charming little shits.

The young Vulcan glanced down at his hospital roommate and lifted one unimpressed eyebrow.

"Hey Spock."

The teen nodded a greeting at the doctor but lost interest instantly to drift over to his mother. McCoy didn't blame him. Amanda Grayson's smile practically beamed around the room as she cupped the young Vulcan's face in a soft intimate greeting. No one seemed to notice the silent sentinel of a Vulcan loitering around the doorway.

The _Enterprise's_ Chief of Medical raised a mental eyebrow wondering what that was all about because he'd never seen the boys without their expressionless Vulcan guard, even when he'd dropped by in the dead of night. Sulu thought it was security organized by the ambassador so no one could make off with his son again, while Chekov was convinced that Spock was somehow ancient Vulcan nobility. McCoy was pretty certain that M'Benga knew what it was for, but whatever the reason, he wasn't saying.

By the windows, mother and son's soft Vulcan greetings turned into a show-and-tell as the woman began opening the bags she had with her. Realizing that he was probably intruding on a picnic he wasn't invited to, McCoy asked Jimmy a couple of questions before warning him again to take it easy, the jokes and easy banter passing between them dispelling the last of the weariness from his long shift. As usual, the kid rolled his eyes, looking so much like Jim it gave his heart a lurch and a wobble.

"Relax, Doc. I'll be fine."

McCoy resisted the urge to retort that the kid hadn't been fine, that he was still in a wheelchair for crying out loud, but Jimmy wasn't paying attention anymore, his eyes sliding over to Spock like he couldn't help himself. Starting from the healed cut on Jimmy's brow, the doctor let his eyes drift over the teenager and swallowed at the thick clump of sentimental goo that rose up from his stomach. He felt stupid that he cared so damn much about the kid being happy that seeing him _happy_ … well, it made McCoy want to dance on the rooftops. He felt strongly about young Spock's well-being too but, it wasn't to the same degree. After all, he had grown ups who cared about him, but Jimmy…

 _You're a fool_ , he told himself, _you're an old bleeding heart of a fool_. But the doctor couldn't shake his memory of the anguish on Jimmy's face when he'd begged for his dad to be saved. To see him now so…so lit up from the inside, it settled a weight in McCoy that he didn't know he was carrying. He wasn't sure how much longer Jimmy would have this, since at some point the kid would probably be shipped back to Earth, but he'd bet his finest bottle of Saurian brandy that the two would see each other again sooner rather than later; according to Chekov, young Spock had already picked out his preferred final year electives at the Academy.

"Doctor McCoy," Amanda Grayson's voice startled him out of his contemplation, "Doctor McCoy?"

He waved away her concern. "Long shift, sorry, you were saying?"

"Won't you join us?"

McCoy shook his head, "Thank you but I'm afraid I have to decline. I'm on another shift tonight."

"Oh of course, then don't let us keep you."

On his way out the door, he heard the kid expressing undying love to Spock's mother for bringing "awesome" food. It was an ordinary scene, amazingly normal; teenage boys everywhere probably acted exactly the same in response to the prospect of a good feed. McCoy hid his grin, but not very successfully. A Vulcan healer heading in the opposite direction on the stairs stared unabashedly at his uninhibited joy in what was probably Vulcan-horror.

"Ma'am," he greeted, tipping an invisible hat in true Southern Cavalier style.

Doing another walk-by of Hendorff's group, McCoy scowled as he caught sight of several _familiar_ faces, who'd given him more than a fair share of strife back on the _Enterprise_ , out of bed when they shouldn't be. Swiftly he changed course, ready to put the fear of God into these troublemakers.

 _Engineers_ , he mentally snorted, _no goddamn sense at all…_

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base – Solkar Campus, year 2246_

"Commander Spock!"

Spock turned, startled to hear his name called in public as it was considered impolite on Vulcan. The First Officer of the _Enterprise_ was even more startled to see it was Commodore Kirk, who was running towards him across the shuttle pad. Deciding that something urgent was likely responsible for her visit, Spock was about to inform Ensign Sepp to assume command of alpha shift and leave without him when she leaped onto the shuttle.

"Permission to come aboard, Commander," she panted, and brushed past him without waiting for an answer.

Doctor McCoy raised his eyebrows in surprise; they climbed further when the commodore took the seat directly across the aisle from the First Officer. In the main cabin, the crew continued to speak amongst themselves, unaware of their unexpected visitor. At a loss as to what to do, Spock took his usual seat and fastened his safety restraints as the hatch was closed. Overhead, the pilot announced imminent departure for the shipyard.

"Good morning, Commander, Doctor."

"Morning," Doctor McCoy replied cautiously.

The woman smiled briefly at Spock, an alien expression that sat strangely on her familiar features. Alien in that it was bereft of any warmth that even the smallest of smiles held when the captain made the same expression. He studied the contrast and wished that Humanity were not such an enigma.

It struck him that she referred to him by name and rank when he did not recall sharing these personal details, leading Spock to wonder whether she had arrived at the conclusion based on her observations or if her son had inadvertently revealed this to her. If it was the latter, then it would have to be impressed upon James Kirk the younger that the Temporal Prime Directive was to be taken seriously and no further breaches were acceptable.

"Commodore, may I inquire after the reason for your visit?"

"Just checking in on the refit," she replied easily. Too easily.

"We are proceeding on schedule."

"Good."

A long uncomfortable silence fell as the two officers regarded each other, one suspicious and the other vibrating with many unanswered questions, both equally unsure how to proceed. McCoy tried furiously to ignore them and wondered why on Earth he thought it would be better to sit back here with Spock than the mob of redshirts.

The Vulcan turned away first, bewildered by the level of heightened emotions emanating from the commodore upon accessing his telesper senses. Being experienced with similar tensions when Jim was troubled or deep in thought, Spock tightened his mental shielding and loaded the repair logs on his PADD, intent on utilizing his time productively until Commodore Kirk was ready to speak. It was not easy to ignore her projected emotions, due to their strength and proximity, but the level of detail within Mister Scott's logs soon held his full attention.

Seated an arm's length away, Winona Kirk stared blindly ahead, still unsettled by her morning. She had prepared herself for histrionics, anger, the silent treatment, even despair but Jimmy had merely nodded at her announcement, asked questions about her new commission, even requesting to visit her on the ship when he was better. She should be pleased that her son was growing up, but all she could think about was that he'd stopped needing her, and that he had someone else now.

"Actually, I've been reassigned. I thought to let you know in person."

Failing to see how this news required the commodore to inform him personally, Spock hid a frown. "I am certain that your replacement shall be adequate."

"Yes, well, Captain Pike is going to be taking over effective immediately. I wanted to come aboard today, see the progress of the refit in person before signing off my final report."

"I see."

She gestured for the datapad and Spock handed it over without comment. He observed her carefully; while the commodore displayed casual interest in the repair logs, flicking through them at a moderate pace, she remained undeniably tense and distracted. Subterfuge of this sort may have worked upon another, but he was quite familiar with avoidant behavior amongst Humans.

"Commodore Kirk," he ventured quietly; a quick glance ascertained that the main cabin continued to be unaware of their guest, "may I be frank?"

A row in front of them, Doctor McCoy's head jerked in surprise and started to turn before he hastily aborted the movement, instead ducking his head back down to face his PADD in a poor pretense of being preoccupied.

Winona Kirk glanced across the walkway separating them. With a gaze that could almost be described as fierce, a sullen expression and even sharper features than the teenage boy sharing his DNA, Commander Spock was utterly alien and seemed to lose even the hints of inherited Humanity that she'd managed to see in Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, the boy whom Jimmy called his best friend.

"Commodore Kirk, as you're aware I am bound by the Temporal Prime Directive; in addition I have made a personal vow to not interfere in the events of the current timeline any further than I already have. However, as you have addressed me by name, I can only assume that you have arrived at the logical conclusion."

 _The logical conclusion_ , Winona thought wryly, what an understatement.

"Having said that, it was made clear that there was to be no extended personal contact between the crew of my ship and anyone of this timeline – which leads me to ask: why are you aboard this shuttle? Your very presence is a breach of the agreement you enacted."

Yes, she probably wasn't supposed to be here but that never stopped her. She felt a grudging admiration for the Vulcan's directness – and his sharp mind.

Winona Kirk had done her research and knew as much about Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda Grayson, as the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps did. Born upon Vulcan on the outskirts of _Shikahr_ at a clan estate inherited by his father, his childhood was unremarkable except for having racked up some impressive interstellar millage due to the ambassador's diplomatic tours. He was academically gifted, proficient in Standard and several dialects of Vulcan, and held a high telesper rating. Of course being half-Human, there were articles which referred to him in passing, usually medical research papers and xenobiological case studies, but for the most part Spock was an ordinary citizen.

"Commander Spock, I've been offered a new commission – _the USS Monchezke_ – and will be shipping out in three days time."

If she wasn't paying attention, she would have missed the slight widening of the Vulcan's eyes.

"You are not remaining on Vulcan."

Swallowing down the urge to crack a sarcastic comment on him stating the stupidly obvious, she averted her eyes. "No, I am not."

It wasn't for the lack of trying; she'd already delayed the launch by four months when she threw what for her was a full hissy fit and demanded a full systems calibration be done before she took over, giving her the needed extra time to spend with Jimmy and deal with his situation. The admiralty had probably known what she was doing but no one called her out. It couldn't be delayed anymore though.

"The _USS Monchezke_ is an exemplary vessel. Congratulations, sir."

Though the statement was toneless, she felt a sensation not unlike self-hatred rip through her chest. It took all of her control to keep her voice even.

"Thank you. In answer to your question, Commander – since we're speaking frankly – I thought you should know that I've been contacted about formalizing a betrothal bond between Jimmy and Spock, Ambassador Sarek's son."

There was a quickly stifled choking noise from the doctor's seat. They both hardly noticed.

"I see."

Closing her eyes for several beats and wondering why she even thought this was a good idea, Winona Kirk whirled to face the object of her scrutiny. "Commander, I'm uncomfortable with the _very idea_ of a 'betrothal bond.' I have tried to make something–"

There was a whistle from the overhead speakers but Winona ignored it.

"– _romantic_ out of this whole thing, but your younger self is only fifteen. I don't want to belittle him because he is smarter than I am, but fifteen is still _fifteen_. And despite being half-Human you've chosen to honor the Vulcan way, Mister Spock – and he's basically you – which means that I can't even delude myself by thinking that there are somehow feelings involved. This leads me to two options; that this bond is for convenience or for politics. Ambassador Sarek has been–"

"Ambassador Sarek would not use a bond for the purposes which you are suggesting," the commander interrupted, his sharp tone surprising her. He sounded _angry_.

"Firstly, it would be illogical not to mention amoral to use such contrived means to gain political leverage, as considerable damage may be inflicted upon the minds of the bonded parties if they were promptly separated once the political purpose had been fulfilled; secondly, convenience is not a word any Vulcan would use to describe an agreement of this nature."

The dark eyes met hers, sending a zap of electricity down her spine.

"A betrothal bond is a solemn promise, Commodore, made in good faith. While it has been known to be dissolved when parties are in mutual agreement of their incompatibility, it is as important as the actual marriage, years from now. The initiator of the agreement will be required to give material and monetary support to maintain the intended, as for all intents and purposes she or he will join said clan and is the responsibility of that clan."

"Attention all passengers, please prepare for turbulence. We shall be docking shortly."

The commander broke off their stare, turning back to face the main cabin where other passengers were already preparing themselves in response to the overhead announcement. Winona Kirk held out the datapad without being asked; it had long since been forgotten in her lap. There was a slight jolt as the shuttle made touch-down.

Commander Spock stood to leave with the repair crew, switching gears with an ease that made her envious. "To assist in the completion of your last report as our liaison, Commodore, I shall be happy to introduce you to our chief engineer once I have been debriefed."

 _You, happy?_ Winona almost snorted.

"Of course; see you in a bit."

As the shuttle emptied, to her surprise, the Vulcan didn't follow the crew. Standing eerily still by the exit, he glanced over his shoulder at her. His expression shifted – it was almost as if he were apprehensive.

"Commodore…this is highly irregular and I understand that it is not my place, however, I wish to inquire after your plans for James Kirk."

The alternate future Leonard McCoy fixed her with a indignant glare as he rose to his feet, not even bothering to hide his eavesdropping.

"Ma'am, Jimmy's in _no shape_ to go warping around the galaxy with you!"

"And he's not."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as he stepped back from the shuttle door, plainly puzzled. "You are accepting the ambassador's offer?"

Ignoring the intense stares being leveled at her, Winona unbuckled her safety belt, passive-aggressively taking the time to do it properly.

"I'm currently considering the possibility of sending Jimmy to Tarsus IV – once he's good to travel, naturally. My aunt and uncle live there and have said previously they'd be happy to have long-term visitors. It's a nice place, mostly farms, good place to recuperate, lots of families."

With an abruptness that startled both of them, Doctor Leonard McCoy pushed past Spock with a rudeness that was unusual even for him and stormed away without saying a word.

 _He couldn't take it anymore_! To not say something about Tarsus IV made him want to break something! Despite the fact that Jimmy Kirk wasn't Jim, his friend and one of the best men he knew, his heart went out to the kid. Missing for over six months, six _damn_ months, presumed _dead_ and given up on by everyone including his _own mother – then_ as soon as he's rescued and it's confirmed that he'll live, the woman takes off again. If Jimmy ended up on Tarsus IV right after the trauma he'd just gone through…the doctor had a dozen things he wanted to say to Commodore Winona Kirk and none of them pretty.

Left alone with the commodore, Spock sought to control his warring emotions; despite his efforts though, when he spoke, it was not entirely calm.

"Commodore…I recommend that you reconsider the ambassador's offer."

Winona Kirk regarded him in surprise. The naked vulnerability displayed by the First Officer was a shock to her after having come to expect only haughty reserve. Though it should have comforted her to see this glimmer of Humanity, it just made her uncomfortable.

"Commander, ah there you are!" A man in his late thirties – clearly Scottish judging by his accent – waved at them cheerfully, leaning into the shuttle, "I see we've got a guest! Welcome aboard, Commodore. Are you getting off here or are you heading back to Vulcan with the gamma shift?"

"Commodore Kirk, may I present our chief engineer," the Vulcan introduced, his face wiped blank once more. "The commodore will be making her final report as our liaison, if you will apprise her of the current state of repairs, Commander."

"Oh of course," the man beamed, "Right this way, sir."

Following the ship's chief engineer, a troubled Winona Kirk exited the shuttle. Two days ago, she had been more or less certain that sending Jimmy to Tarsus IV would be for the best, but now…

Despite all her personal feelings of antagonism towards Commander Spock, for him to ask her to reconsider – breaking his own vow of non-interference and only short of violating the Temporal Prime Direction on technicality – _why_ would he do that? Why would he risk it? _Unless_ …

In an alternate timeline, perhaps she'd never made a decision to sent Jimmy to Tarsus IV. Maybe Jimmy needed to experience something on Earth, or meet someone on Vulcan to ensure temporal continuance. According to Captain 'Jim,' her son had a role to play – or was that irrelevant now that history was different now? Perhaps the commander was lying, trying to manipulate her into accepting Ambassador Sarek's offer. But Vulcans didn't lie, she reminded herself, and went back to reviewing the facts again even as her tension headache increased exponentially. She was starting to understand why no DTI agent ever had a sense of humor.

 _What are you going to do, Winnie?_ She could hear George asking.

"Honestly," she murmured under her breath, "No idea."

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Shikahr City, Roktor-gel Quarter, year 2246_

Winona Kirk felt sweat prick at the nape of her neck as she walked briskly down the street. Subtle filters above her tempered the harshness of Vulcan's suns, but it was still hotter than she remembered from her cadet days. Turning left at the next intersection, she noticed an immediate change in the signage as she drew closer to _Shikahr's_ Terran enclave. The restaurant was as discreet as she could have hoped for, set in an enclosed courtyard on a walk up laneway behind some flashier establishments. Her lunch appointment was already waiting for her, sun-veils folded at her side. Winona glanced at her personal tricorder before snapping it close – it seemed that they were both early.

"Lady Sarek?

The Human wife of the Vulcan Ambassador smiled warmly, "Commodore Kirk."

"Winona, actually – I'm not on duty."

"And my name isn't Sarek," the woman gestured for her to sit. "Please, call me Amanda – Amanda Grayson. Our sons are friends."

Was that what it was called on Vulcan? The commodore sat down, and allowed herself to be served a glass of water. She tried to pace herself but still gulped down the liquid in mouthfuls, drained by the walk from the nearest transporter station and still weary after a packed morning spent in final debriefings before she sent off the _Douglas_ to pick up her new captain.

The invitation to have lunch had come from Lady T'Pau two days ago, and arrived just as she'd wrapped up her tour of the _Enterprise_ , her excuse to ambush Commander Spock. Winona thought about declining – the timing was awfully suspicious – but in the end it just wasn't worth possibly offending the Vulcan matriarch over a free lunch. It was pretty obvious to her though that 'lunch' was simply an euphemism for negotiations.

She had to admit, she was curious about the ambassador's wife; anyone who could get a good reference from the very intimidating Lady T'Pau was worth a meeting and the brief glimpses in passing at the hospital didn't tell her much. But as Winona studied the holographic menu that flickered over the tabletop, she rather wished this were a _real_ negotiation, one with armed guards and obvious hostility. This whole business of having lunch together, disguising the tensions by watering it down with social niceties – she hated the whole damn idea of it.

There was nothing but vegetables and then more vegetables, so Winona picked the Mediterranean salad, a cold Vulcan spice tea and then regretted it immediately when she looked up to meet the other woman's gaze. She'd just given up her best excuse to continue ignoring the Lady Sarek. Her uncertainty threatened to freeze her like a first-year cadet before she shook it off by sheer will.

Across the table, Amanda Grayson looked on with dark curious eyes, so eerily similar to her son, Spock. Winona glanced at her ears, looking for points; the woman's ears were completely round.

"You know, I think Spock has a little crush on you."

Winona almost choked on air.

"Besides his demands that I bring every single education holovid from home that he possesses so he can show it off to James, his favorite topic right now is Starfleet. He insists that he's impressed with the engineering, the opportunities for scientific research, the academic rigors, and vehemently denies it as being anything but professional admiration, yet I'm pretty sure he's got a touch of hero worship."

Winona Kirk caught the twinkle in the other woman's eyes and couldn't help warming to Amanda Grayson even as her stomach twisted.

"It's nice to hear him enthuse about something – all too often, I'll ask him a million questions and get nothing but one word answers."

She knew what the woman was doing. She did it herself – connecting with her opponent on common ground. Winona supposed she could go along with the attempt to get the conversation rolling in an easy neutral direction, wait for it to lead to where they both knew it would – whether or not she'd give Jimmy up to be raised by strangers – but frankly she just didn't care.

"That can't have pleased the ambassador. Aren't Vulcans against violence?"

"Theoretically," Amanda Grayson deflected the implied insinuation easily, "but don't let the empty expanses of desert and over-developed cities fool you. Vulcan is a violent planet, with an equally violent past. Their education continues to stress tradition, which often includes the study and practice of martial arts and weapons. I can tell you, Commodore, those bouts are no joking matter. There's usually blood."

She'd heard about that; after all, she'd done her final year survival training here and studied Vulcan self-defense at the Academy. An awkward silence ensued, broken by the arrival of a young woman with their drinks. Amanda Grayson smiled at their server and thanked her. She smiled a lot, a lot more than one would expect from someone who had chosen to marry a Vulcan. Which, really, who the hell would _choose_ to marry a _Vulcan_?

"There's a saying – _when all rational solutions refuse to fit the available facts, then we seek an irrational solution that does_. It gets repeated quite a bit, in all different variations."

"I think you mean; _when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,_ _however improbable, must be the truth_."

Amanda Grayson smile brightened if that was even possible, "Despite complaints about gross inaccuracies, they were Spock's favorite bedtime stories."

Winona tried to imagine a young Vulcan boy clamoring onto his bed and eagerly listening to bedtime stories about serial killers, violent criminals and one drug-addicted gentleman in late Victorian England. She could see why Jimmy liked the kid; he had taste.

"Spock believes in that saying, probably more than he should," Her host's smile waned, "After everything that's happened, he sees Vulcan education as 'inadequate preparation for the realities of the galaxy,' and he intends to remedy that immediately."

Winona swallowed thickly, a rush of hot emotion welling up at the thought of how much suffering had been endured to teach that harsh lesson. She reached for her glass of water, taking a long drink to try and ignore how much she could relate. For her as well, one could never be too prepared.

"If he wasn't under doctor's orders, I think he would be banging on your door to talk you into sponsoring him for the Starfleet Academy Entrance Exams."

She could imagine it. That determination was probably how he convinced Lady T'Pau to step in on his behalf and wear Winona down in a last ditch attempt to make her leave Jimmy on Vulcan.

"Starfleet would be lucky to have him," she said, and she meant it.

Despite how she felt about this weird situation, Starfleet wouldn't know what hit them if Spock took on the Academy. The boy was exceptionally bright and granted, Starfleet was full of bright kids, but the stubborn will to persevere against all odds, that was something else. She respected his inner strength, and if he were older, she might have been the one approaching him to enlist.

"Thank you," Amanda Grayson said with solemnity, "Thank you for bringing back my son. I know you're going to say that it's your duty, but let's be honest – what you do on a day to day basis, Winona, the risks that you take on, it's never just duty."

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. It was difficult to continue seeing the woman as her opponent when she was proving herself to not only be intelligent but intuitive. If they had met under other circumstances, Winona had no difficulties imagining them as friends. There was a quiet assurance in Amanda Grayson she felt drawn to and reminded her strongly of Admiral Barnett.

"Your son kept my son alive."

"And vice versa," the woman paused, "Commodore– Winona, I know you must be concerned about what we're proposing. It is, I know, a very alien concept, and I had a hard time accepting it when Spock was pledged the first time around. But Vulcans are telepaths, and they have mental needs that can only be fulfilled by telepathic bonds."

Winona took a sip of water, trying to aim for calm composure. The bond wasn't something she really understood despite the many times it had been explained to her. It was like explaining the sky to the blind, she supposed. But she knew enough to understand its importance, the consequences of removing the spontaneous wild bond Jimmy had in his head. It had also been explained to her that a bond couldn't be used to coerce and Jimmy's bond with his new Vulcan friend could only thrive as it was due to mental compatibility and mutual affection. That last part, that was the important factor as far as she was concerned.

"I know, I've been briefed by Healer Sorel."

The woman smiled, but its brightness had dimmed. "It's a special thing among Vulcans, to find one who matches you so well."

 _Was it that way with you and the ambassador_? Winona didn't ask.

As far as Jimmy was concerned, there was nothing strange about the bond. He barely felt its influence, and described it to her as a warm feeling, a sixth sense about Spock, his moods, if he was close or far away. Winona had half-expected Jimmy to demand he be allowed to stay with the ambassador's family on Vulcan, because surely Spock or the ambassador or someone would have told Jimmy about the request to formalize the bond. It's what she would have done – gone behind her back and asked the hormonally-addled teenage boy – but while Jimmy was steadfastly loyal to Spock, he never brought up the bond as an excuse to stay behind on Vulcan.

With suspiciously good timing, a waiter arrived with a new carafe of water and a large irregularly-shaped plate of what looked like bite-sized appetizers in the crook of his arm, resetting the mood at the table. Winona wondered if the man was telepathic.

"I hope you don't mind, but I ordered this to share." Amanda Grayson pushed the plate towards her, "It's very good, please try some."

Despite the fact that she wasn't really in the mood to eat, Winona forced herself to take a few.

"I know you must have questions."

Was there something in the Vulcan atmosphere that made everyone to speak in understatements?

"I've seen you in passing at the hospital but we've never really had an opportunity to talk."

She wondered if the woman was that naïve to not notice someone avoiding her, but then she caught the glint in Amanda Grayson's eyes. "It's hard for me just leaving Spock for a few weeks with relatives, people I know and trust, so I'm sure it's a tall ask for you to consider leaving Jimmy with us, for months and possibly years at a time. I usually send a video message twice a week during these trips and I would have no problems with organizing the same for James to keep in contact with you."

Actually, if Sam hadn't come home, Jimmy's disappearance would have probably gone unnoticed for weeks – regular calls weren't really her thing. Shit. Winona allowed herself to experience a moment of shame.

Anyone who didn't belong to the Fleet would have considered her decision to take such a faraway posting incomprehensible, even heartless; after all Jimmy needed a parent, someone to bug him to eat right and go to bed early, and coddle him when he sweated through painful sessions of physical therapy. She didn't expect Ambassador Sarek and his wife to understand her choice – people rarely did – but she had done her own tally and knew the score. With the third and seventh fleet decimated and several crucial outposts gone, Starfleet needed every experienced command officer they could get. Despite what Pike thought, her new commission was not a reward nor a bribe but a call to arms. She was going to the _USS Monchezke_ to even the odds; after all, even a science vessel could put up a fight, if her captain knew how. This was _for Jimmy_ , for Sam, even if no one else would see it that way.

Her host's gaze was gentle. "No one in my family has ever served in Starfleet, so I can't imagine the pressures that you and your crew go through as a matter of fact. That you managed to have a family at all, and raised a son as accomplished and good-natured as James – you have nothing to prove to anyone as far as I'm concerned."

"That's just luck," she dismissed, because it was true.

All of it – Jimmy's good looks, his smarts, his resilient bright personality and physical prowess – was sheer dumb luck, or as George would say, providence. There had been no guarantees that the good genes would be passed on second time around after Sam, but then there he was, a small wrinkled thing in the crook of her arm, with her father-in-law's startling crystalline eyes and her mother's dark blonde hair.

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit."

She ducked away from Amanda Grayson's searching look with a mirthless smile, because if the woman only knew...

"I've spent enough time with James to know that he has been raised to be articulate, knowledgeable, and compassionate. You should be proud of him."

Unease twisted in Winona's chest like a monster trying to crawl its way out. The woman was making it sound like she'd purposely set out to expand Jimmy's horizons when that wasn't the case at all. The more demanding of her two sons and the more curious, she'd given Jimmy every book and holovid he could want, enough to fill a library, and sent him on every excursion he was interested in, trying to distract him from noticing her absence. Whenever they talked, she'd filled their conversations with educational tidbits and random facts, often trying to get Jimmy to talk about his life on Earth, diverting their discussions away from her missions, her absence. For years, Jimmy believed that if he impressed her enough, she'd stay – and worst of all, she had let him believe it.

"I am," she said, finding it suddenly hard to breath as confusing emotions swelled in her chest.

She was proud, Winona realized, because her son was amazing, despite her failures. And Jimmy deserved to have people who gave a damn about him, who would notice if he went missing, who knew his favorite food.

Mouth dry, she looked up at the woman across the table from her, her doubts about Tarsus IV increasing exponentially.

Jimmy deserved to have Amanda Grayson make his favorite food, to have visitors everyday at his bedside, to be taken to exotic planets with the ambassador's family and attend one of the best schools in the Federation. She had spent sleepless nights back on the farm in Iowa, loathing herself – not because he was gone – but because she hadn't _realized_ he was gone, and couldn't even say if he had gone off on his own because she didn't know _who he was,_ barely remembered what he liked to eat much less what troubled him, what made him happy, what he aspired to become.

Amanda smiled, "Spock adores him."

Perhaps, but since it was an alien adoration that she had no frame of reference for, she didn't really care. She could only go with what she did understand, and the kid certainly knew more about her son than she did.

Chris was firmly of the opinion that Jimmy should return to Earth if Tarsus IV was no longer an option, and had even gone so far as to offer himself up as a foster parent. She'd declined, of course, because it didn't seem fair and Jimmy barely knew him. Since Jimmy had been pretty much running his own life for years, she'd considered making this his decision – but every time Winona tried asking him to make a choice, something inside of her rebelled.

Spock, the boy who had befriended him and saved his life, who could offer Jimmy a comfortable family life and the best educational opportunities this side of the Alpha Quadrant versus a grand-aunt and uncle he had never met before in a new colony off the beaten interstellar track? The choice seemed obvious, except she had needed to be sure of these people, that they would do right by Jimmy and weren't just doing taking her son in for the benefit of their own child.

Staring across the table at the other mother, Winona Kirk took a leap of faith.

"Actually, I wanted to meet you today because I've accepted a new commission and will leave day after tomorrow… I was going to arrange to send Jimmy to Tarsus IV after he was finished with mandatory therapy. I have an aunt and uncle there, and I've heard that the colony is doing well despite how young it is. But…I've spoken to a several people – and they seem to disagree." She breathed out, "I think they're right."

Amanda's expression never wavered as she refilled their water glasses, movements sedate and elegant, despite Winona watching her carefully for any signs of triumph. "Congratulations on the new commission. I'm sure Jimmy's proud."

She cleared her throat, "Yes."

Yes, he had been proud.

Was it terrible that she was slightly unsettled because he wasn't upset at her leaving? Being envious of a teenaged Vulcan boy who was sucking up all her son's attention and time made her feel silly.

Amanda smiled tentatively, "Then…?"

She smiled back, feeling like her old self as she wryly admitted, "Ah, I don't really know how to proceed but Admiral Perim is willing to lend me someone from her legal team to get Jimmy sorted for long-term residency on Vulcan."

Startled delight filled the woman's smile and the waiter appeared as though magically summoned, replacing dirtied plates and utensils before coming back with their mains. Feeling as though a literal weight had been overthrown, Winona dug into her salad and savored its tangy sweetness, letting it distract her from the heady sensation of being suddenly made lighter. Soon a new conversation began between the two women, starting with a discussion about the restaurant's food before shifting onto Jimmy's choices for school upon Vulcan, his medical needs, what a Starfleet career entailed for someone pursuing the Science track and Amanda Grayson's enduring love of roses.

* * *

_Planet-side: Vulcan, Llangon Mountains, year 2247_

Tri-ox compound made it easier to breathe but it sure as hell didn't make Vulcan a more hospitable place temperature-wise. One could hardly believe it was the crack of dawn.

"Already hotter than Terran hell," Leonard McCoy muttered under his breath as he took off the unflattering straw hat jammed on his head to fan himself.

They were a sorry sight to behold: him, M'Benga, a bunch of cranky redshirts with the highest ranked redshirt of them all, Scotty, decked out in Vulcan robes standing around awkwardly, sweating like pigs. The chief engineer looked like he didn't know if he ought to dance a jig or collapse in a dead faint at the sight of several famous faces in the crowd and M'Benga hovered at his shoulder, keeping a careful eye on him.

In one corner, Starfleet brass mingled uncomfortably in their full uniforms, and in another, notable persons from diplomats to scientists and even a few claims to royalty held themselves in haughty reserve. Occasionally a server would swing around with much needed liquids but judging by the red creeping into the face of a visiting admiral and his exec, the cool drinks weren't enough. He honestly didn't know who thought attending a ceremony _on Vulcan_ in full uniform was a good idea, but boy, were these officers about to be roasted alive.

"Nice hat."

He turned and blinked in surprise. It was Captain Pike, his hair neatly groomed to stiffness in full dress-uniform. The man gave him a friendly smile, beads of sweat on his brow, and held out his hand. On instinct, McCoy came to attention. This Pike's hair was a lighter shade of brunette than he remembered, and strangely, a little curlier at the top. He hadn't noticed that when he'd been interrogated at the Academy; it felt like a lifetime ago, considering all that had happened since.

He shook the offered hand carefully, almost expecting something to come out and zap him for this interaction. "Captain Pike, good to see you, sir."

"Likewise," the older man cast curious looks at a few in their motley group, but refrained from greeting anyone else.

"So…Jim huh?"

McCoy almost groaned. The cat was out of the bag, but did they honestly have to discuss it?

"Yes, sir…"

"Oh don't call me, sir – it just makes this all stranger."

One of the redshirts was noticeably staring and McCoy scowled pointedly at her; the young woman flinched and quickly resumed her conversation with Hendorff.

"Have we…?" Pike gestured vaguely to the group.

McCoy frowned in confusion before realizing the man wanted to know if they'd served together. "Yes, sir- I mean, yes, we did, um, serve together – on the one mission."

"I see," Pike looked as though he wanted to ask but refrained at the last moment. _Thank_ the Lord – because Leonard McCoy knew his own strengths and while he could look into a mirror and declare that he was a damn good doctor, he couldn't say the same about his poker face.

"Maybe we'll get the chance again someday."

"Here's to hoping."

Captain Pike shifted his gaze to the various conversational groups around the room, averting the oncoming awkwardness with experienced ease. "I see that some of the crew were invited. Is Captain…Jim here?"

"No."

"Hmm," Pike craned his head to look over the heads of the tall willowy Vulcans that seemed to be everywhere, "First officer?"

He scoffed a negative. Even if Spock had been invited, it would have been a bad idea on multiple accounts – it was one thing for him to be glossed over as an officer of Vulcan origins when among Starfleet, but here, with extended clan members and intimate friends of the family? From what he'd picked up conversing with Uhura and M'Benga, Vulcans exuded a mental presence of sorts. As a distinctively plain old ordinary Human with no telepathic bone to speak of, he didn't understand it but supposedly, these folks would have honed in on Spock's real identity in minutes.

"I suppose it would be strange for them to be present for this."

The doctor grimaced. It was strange for _him_ to be present for this but when Jimmy asked, how could he turn the kid down? Clearly his mother was going to be a no-show, and while Scotty, his engineer buddies and M'Benga were also invited, someone had to chaperon _that lot_.

Pike took another sip of his drink. "I can't believe how much he looks like George. He's young for a captain."

McCoy had a feeling that this conversation was going to require alcohol. Still, he supposed there was minimal harm if they were going to talk about Jim and just Jim – the whole damn galaxy by now probably knew Jim was from the future and here to save his thirteen-year old self with the way he went around announcing it. "He was the best – so they gave him the job."

Pike squinted speculatively at the redshirts who shuffled nervously and huddled even closer together. "He must have pulled something amazing out of the hat to get a ship like that straight out of the Academy."

McCoy snorted, because the man didn't know the half of it – and hopefully never would, now that the _Narada_ had been destroyed. "He's a regular magician."

"Obviously," the man tilted his head, calculating. "Even with all the right moves, the fastest I've ever known someone to climb the ranks and get a ship captaincy is eight years."

The doctor smiled uneasily at the reminder of the lost graduates from year 2258. He took a gulp of his drink but it did nothing to quench the dryness of his mouth. Turning away, he tried to look like he was interested in a conversation that had sprung up between the Bolian ambassador and the Edosian princess with her back to him. He honestly didn't know why he had to be the one standing with Captain Pike and doing the whole uncomfortable yes-I-am-from-the-future song and dance again while everyone else was acting antisocial. It was a downright conspiracy.

"Ah, what am I saying," Pike chuckled, "His dad was Starfleet through and through, and his grand-aunt, and before that, his great-grandfather. I also know how smart the kid is, I just sat through five sessions of him getting drilled by the most intimidating middle school teachers in the galaxy with the kind of aplomb you'd be hard-pressed to find even among that lot."

He eyed the Starfleet brass that Pike nodded at and found himself agreeing. Vulcan teachers were terrifying; he'd take an angry admiral over one of them any day.

"With all that, he's tailor-made Starfleet material."

 _Except for the long list of minor misdemeanors and the drinking and the bed hopping – not exactly inspiring beginnings for a Starfleet poster child_. That was ancient history though, and now, not even going to happen since Jimmy was going to be living on Vulcan for the foreseeable future; it was hard to score on a planet where pre-marital sex was considered a waste of time.

"You served together long?"

"Three years," he admitted after a beat of deliberation. "It feels longer."

Pike smirked. "But you've been known him for longer than that."

The doctor sighed in long-suffering. "That obvious?"

The older man shrugged with a laugh, "You've got to have history if you're gonna berate your captain like that."

McCoy snorted at the reminder of their Academy escape. A beat of silence followed as the drinks came past their way again. Both took a fresh glass of iced tea and murmured their thanks.

"Not a mussed hair on any of them," Pike muttered under his breath between sips, eying the loosely organized throng of Vulcans to their right.

"Well, they're bred for this weather," He grumbled, suddenly getting a hankering for a blueberry snow cone; it was all the darn blue Vulcan robes, they seemed particularly popular today for some reason. "This is probably pleasant to them."

Pike eyed him and opened his mouth to speak, but instead started coughing, waving a hand at the air like he was trying to get rid of a bad smell. McCoy took a deep breath and gave a startled cough himself – there was a whiff of sulfur on the breeze coming in from the northwest. Captain Pike went a distinct shade of sickly as he tried surreptitiously to cover his nose. Taking the initiative, McCoy took out his emergency hypo-spray and administered a shot of anti-nausea meds followed by another quarter dose of tri-ox to give the man a boost, then fanned ineffectively at the air around them.

"Thanks," Pike croaked, before sighing in relief as the tri-ox kicked in.

"Just doing my job, sir. You were saying?"

"About the … this _betrothal_ …" Pike said uncomfortably, "I understand that it's an antiquated Vulcan practice, no longer as common though still practiced, particularly among those with a high telespar rating; but it's usually between small children."

Leonard McCoy honestly didn't care about Vulcan practices and only knew the basics that pretty much everyone knew from grade school, though if someone wanted to discuss ailments and viruses suffered by Vulcans or originating from Vulcan, he'd be more than happy to share. However, he wouldn't be surprised if arranged marriages were all the rage – tenderness was a rare thing in a Vulcan. Well, at least any form of tenderness that he might be able to recognize.

"I heard something about that."

"From what Winona's tried to explain to me, the betrothal is as important as– as important as the–" McCoy watched bemused as the man almost choked on the word, "–marriage, years from now."

Nearby, the Edosian princess and Bolian ambassador had finally taken a break from their mutual appreciation society and were now both engaged in a conversation with Amanda Grayson. From the almost luminous smile on the woman's face, it was probably congratulations of some sort.

"So I've heard. But there are plenty of cases where they're dissolved too."

Pike looked skeptical but nodded, seemingly coming to terms with it a little better with that revelation.

"Your first officer is Vulcan, isn't he?"

He nodded. There was no getting around that; it was probably the second most badly kept secret among those in the know that Commander Spock was the older alternate timeline version of Ambassador Sarek's son. _Goddammit Winona Kirk…_

"Are they…?" Pike asked tentatively, letting the silence speak for itself.

"No," he replied firmly, and winced because sometimes he wondered too.

It had taken time but Leonard McCoy accepted that for all their similarities, young Spock and Jimmy were _not_ Commander Spock and Captain Jim Kirk 2.0 – it had taken a long embarrassing conversation about the Human birds and bees with young Spock, and an equally long nauseatingly detailed conversation with Jimmy about the Vulcan birds and bees for him to realize that if he continued to think they were the same people, he was going to go crazy. So yes, while today's events had no bearing _whatsoever_ upon the continued friendship between Jim and that hobgoblin, McCoy suspected that there was something more already brewing between them. He wasn't born yesterday, he knew that they'd been sneaking off together when they were both off-duty.

"I heard that the ambassador's son is headed for Starfleet. Should be interesting."

"He's going to blow the bell curve out of the water."

Pike grinned. "You say that like it's for sure."

Leonard McCoy felt sweat trickle down his back and shifted uncomfortably, afraid perhaps he'd revealed something without meaning to. "Have you spoken to the kid? All he needs is electricity and he'd be his own database."

The older man laughed but didn't look away. He recognized that stare Pike had going – Jim leveled that same creepy stare at him whenever he was trying to figure something out.

"You know, when Winona told me she'd decided to sign over guardianship to Ambassador Sarek and would go along with this, I thought she was making a bad decision. I'd offered to take Jimmy myself, and accept a post back in San Francisco..." The captain paused, obviously mulling over his words. "You're close to the kid, I've seen you both, so I'm hoping you can give me your honest opinion here – is Jimmy really going to be okay?"

Staring back, McCoy felt heartened that even in an alternate universe, Captain Christopher Pike still seemed to give a damn and had chosen to fixate his paternal instincts on Jimmy Kirk. Then he wondered how he was going to explain that Winona Kirk throwing Jimmy away to be brought up on Vulcan was probably the best damn thing she could have done for him considering.

Despite the restraints of the Starfleet oath and by extension, the Temporal Prime Directive, as far as he was concerned a far older oath overrode both of those: _I swear by Apollo the Physician, and Aesculapius,and Hygeia and Panacaea His daughters, and by all the other Gods and Goddesses, and the One above Them Whose Name we do not know..._ Anything was better than Tarsus IV. _Anything_. Even if Jimmy spent all his life upon this forsaken rock; and if he had to tell Pike the truth about Tarsus IV so he'd leave it alone, then so be it.

Just as he was about to respond though, sweet sounding chimes rang through the air.

The Starfleet officers reacted first and collectively came to attention, their voices falling as conversations broke off mid-sentence. The assembled Vulcans also turned from their discussions, elegant in their statuesque stillness as they observed the proceedings.

Leonard McCoy watched the procession of Vulcans dressed in ceremonial garments approaching, their steps measured by soft reverberating booms from a gong-like instrument. He raised an eyebrow at the ceremonial machetes and bludgeons being bandied about by some of the Vulcans taking part in the ceremony, and was getting alarmed that something else was going on when a familiar figure stepped out from the heavy stone doors: Ambassador Sarek in dark robes, the very image of dignity personified. He was followed by young Spock, his face composed but his eyes shyly affixed to the ground. McCoy allowed himself a half-smile at the teen's nerves but almost chuckled at how green Jimmy looked compared to the sandy shade of his robes as he trailed behind meekly. _Ah, going native already_ , he thought with fondness.

A matronly Vulcan elder in stark black robes stepped out onto the terrace and there was an abrupt change in the atmosphere – if it was possible, all the Vulcans stood even more still. She gazed upon the gathering and zoned in on their motley crew almost immediately, her eyes dissecting the non-Vulcan faces, before she made a gesture to young Spock and he went to her, sinking down on his knees. She touched his face and then gestured for Jimmy. Pale with unease, the teenager went to her and mirrored the young Vulcan. Her other hand came to rest against his temple, and suddenly Jimmy's face became relaxed and peaceful.

Curious, McCoy shifted closer, craning his neck to get a better view. He watched as the two teenagers turned to each other and raised their hands to caress – no it wasn't really a caress – each other's face, with the Vulcan matriarch readjusting their fingers and fitting her hands over theirs. Vulcan mindmeld, he realized, of some sort – as a doctor he'd read about it before, though not in great detail as Vulcans were notoriously insular, and he'd been told to expect this today - but still, to _see_ it...

"My mind to your mind…" Spock began, his voice vibrating like a song among the pillars.

"My thoughts to your thoughts…" Jimmy replied, his voice almost trembling.

"Parted from me and never parted…"

"Never and always touching…" Jimmy's voice wavered, "And touched."

At those words, the Vulcan matriarch let go and placed her hands gently atop their heads; "Now you are one," She decreed in a clear firm voice, her accent strange and beautiful, "At the appointed time, you will be drawn together."

And then – Leonard McCoy exhaled, having not even noticed he was holding his breath – it was over.

Jimmy jerked his hand back as if he'd been singed and gave Spock an awestruck look of bewilderment. The young Vulcan lowered his hand calmly and gazed back at his _friend_ (McCoy would quite happily admit he'd rather vomit than consider using 'betrothed'). They studied each other for a long moment like they were seeing something no one else could, and beside him Pike exhaled with a shudder, unable to not be affected by the almost physical aura of contentment that flowed from the Vulcan contingent. Slowly, young Spock gave Jimmy a tiny smile, sweet and secret. McCoy's eyes watered. It's the damn sunlight, he told himself. And knew he was lying.

With great dignity Ambassador Sarek stepped forward, his figure looming over them and shaking them out of their reverie. Young Spock rushed to his feet, a slightly embarrassed air to the nod he gave to his father.

The doctor watched as the Vulcan guests congratulated Sarek and Amanda, with Starfleet officers following the custom, lining up neatly by rank. Pike left to join them. Jimmy approached with a disbelieving grin on his face, almost jumping foot to foot in his haste to barrage through several guests. McCoy raised a single derisive eyebrow but couldn't stop the twitch in his lips.

"You're here!"

McCoy managed an indignant sputter, though it was lacking its usual acidity. "You invited me!"

Laughing loudly enough to draw looks, Jimmy closed the last steps between them and fell into him for a one-sided hug. Sighing, the doctor rolled his eyes and allowed it, wrapping his own arms around the kid's skinny shoulders. They swayed together comfortably as Jimmy began to rock side to side. Feeling that his part was done, he pushed the kid away.

"Alright, enough of that, go on, scram."

Jimmy snickered but didn't complain, disappearing back into the milling throng of well-wishers till he was back by Spock's side. The young Vulcan glanced at him briefly, with a look that McCoy swore was satisfaction, before returning his attention to the next person in line to congratulate him, a Vulcan elder so ancient that one could swear he had hairs coming out of his ears.

" _Well_ ," Scotty crooned as he slunk over from where he'd been hiding, "Wasn't that something? I feel all _inspired_."

Hardly, McCoy snorted, and judging by the misery on everyone's sweaty faces, the man was alone in his inspiration. Somewhere in the back of the group, the words 'air conditioning' and 'buffet' were mentioned and the Scotsman turned tail, eager to try some local delicacies. A moment later, the off-world visitors also scattered at the prospect of being indoors.

"Having fun, sir?" Chapel dimpled sweetly at him, looking put-together despite the fact she'd been in the heat as long as anyone else.

"If you mean being cooked alive fun, sure," he drawled, wiping at his brow with the sleeve of his robe and knocking his hat askew. Doing something like that would have had his ass whooped back home, McCoy thought cheerfully, and did it two more times just because. He adjusted his hat. "Let's blow this popsicle stand before I make a fool of myself."

Offering his arm gallantly to her, doctor and nurse joined the throng of departing guests, all wondering at what would pass for refreshments at an event like this and some, such a particularly hungry Scotsman from Glasgow, Scotland, Earth, were eager to try the buffet breakfast spread being put out.

In the distance, a silver glimmer stretched across the horizon like a wildfire, and within minutes a second sun dawned, joining his sister in lashing the planet with their rays. Their ascent went uncommented upon. Deep within the ancient cavern halls of a grand plateau, one clan that could recount a genealogy which spanned all of Vulcan's recorded history rejoiced in the return of one whom had been lost to them and celebrated the joining of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically the story can end here. I wrote THE END - and I pretty much cried when I got to that sentence and then realized, oh I need to sort out the AOS people. Yeah so there's an epilogue because we can't have two Enterprises in one universe, the awesome would be too much to handle.
> 
> (And for anyone who's detail-oriented and therefor wondering what happened to the one surviving Romulan crewmember that Spock mindmelded with on Dessica II and kidnapped to the Enterprise, well, he's in prison somewhere on Vulcan or with the DTI)


	29. Epilogue

_USS Eternity, the Old Neutral Zone, year 2247_

Helmsman Anton Evgenievich Mysheva could be forgiven if his first response to the sight of the fluctuating glow in the twin warp nacelles of the _USS Enterprise_ was a sound of pure delight. No one who had gone through Starfleet Academy or passed their first year in the Commission would mistake the ship for any other ancient space faring vessel. That the men aboard this particular ship and the vessel herself were in fact from an alternate timeline mattered very little to Anton. The ship was identical in every way to the one that existed in their own universe, and for him, that was enough.

For everyone else, staring upon this particular ship directly up close was either a dream or a nightmare, and if they were honest, a little of both.

The standard preparatory dossier for all officers hoping to be made field agent included an in-depth uncensored recount of Rear Admiral James Tiberius Kirk's life, which began with the schism event – death of his father, Captain Robau plus dozens who didn't make it off the _Kelvin_ – after the temporal incursion from POR-A-035-N, skipped to his kidnapping (with Ambassador Spock's child self) and his rescue by his 28 year-old alternate timeline counterpart from POR-A-012-M-005, then went on to summarize his Starfleet years including shocking classified details of his many deaths – _real_ deaths - and how his death(s) had been prevented by direct intervention by Captain Spock from DIT-M-005-D-001 et cetera D-027, and that he had rescued his crew (and the Federation Council) from total destruction by traveling back in time, creating the next schism timeline POR-B-M005-D031. He may not have coined the name or signed the charter, but it was a common joke among officers with newly-minted agent credentials that the man singlehandedly created the need for a Department of Temporal Affairs.

Before this week though, no one among the crew had ever really thought about why there had been no further mention of the visiting rescuers from POR-A-012-M-005 in the dossier, or where an entire Constitution-class ship and her crew from an alternate universe had disappeared to, never to be seen or heard from again. Some had glossed over it and presumed temporal integration had occurred, others had completely missed the detail, but a few had pondered the mystery. One of these people would obsess over it throughout the duration of her career and upon being advanced to director of the Temporal Continuance Commission, would launch an immediate investigation to ascertain the truth. Then having discovered the truth, promptly classified the entire affair for anything involving ontological paradoxes was extremely dangerous. An executive order would be left in place till the year 3196, when it would be dusted off and dispatched to be carried out by the _USS Eternity._

"We're being hailed," announced operations officer T'Riss, looking from the _Eternity's_ captain to their First Officer and then back to the captain again, uncertain what to do.

Captain Ysa Rongcharoen raised a bemused eyebrow. It seemed even Vulcan composure could crack under the prospect of meeting such illustrious figures.

"Open a channel," she directed.

Clicking across the bridge to her captain's side, Commander S'k'lsk made excited buzzing noises through the universal translator strapped to one of her many limbs.

The 3D hologram of the ship dispersed and was replaced with a flat two-dimensional rendering of the other ship's bridge. And its inhabitants.

There was an almost audible intake of breath by the _Eternity_ crew as they saw the faces of the long-dead stare back at them scattered across the bridge of the _USS Enterprise_ , frozen in mid-motion. The man whom unbeknownst to himself created the circumstances that led to this exact confrontation slowly spun around in his chair to face the screen and lifted his chin, sizing up the petite captain of the very big, very advanced ship that had dragged his ship out of warp. She looked of Asian-descent but there was something vaguely non-Human to the curve of her brows.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. To whom am I speaking?"

"Captain Kirk," Rongcharoen inclined her head in respect, hand upon her heart. "I apologize for the abruptness of our interception and any alarm you may have experienced. My crew and I are very pleased to have caught up with you."

There was a strange silence among the bridge crew of the _Eternity_ as the young man's identity washed over them. _That was James Tiberius Kirk_ , reverberated around the room as loudly as if it had been shouted, though no one so much as twitched a whisker.

Everyone stared.

Of course they did. Long before that life-changing, mind-blowing dossier had been declassified for their eyes, everyone had at least heard of him once. The man was a genuine war captain, product of the conflict with the Klingons and Romulans almost a thousand years ago; he was supposed to be a brilliant tactician, and the version of the man from their own universe had even helped pioneer applied temporal mechanics. Alternate universe counterpart or not, James T. Kirk was James T. Kirk. Even T'Riss, the most reasonable member of the senior crew beside the captain, was almost beside herself and currently attempting to self-diagnose her blood pressure.

"Really," the flat reply couldn't have been more sceptical. There was an uncomfortable ripple among the bridge as the man history remembered to be fearsome when crossed studied them with intent, "You realize you haven't exactly answered my question."

"Captain," a figure behind James Kirk stood, "I believe that demanding proof of identity will be unproductive. One only needs to examine the current sensor readings and consult a visual of the vessel's outer hull to arrive at a reasonably accurate conclusion."

Unknown to her fellow non-Vulcan colleagues, T'Riss experienced a further jump in her blood pressure when the unmistakable Vulcanoid figure stepped down from the upper bridge.

"And that would be?"

The Vulcan officer came to a stop by the central chair, "The ship is from the future."

This Spock who hailed from POR-A-012-M-005 had not attained his latter notoriety and was not a captain yet, much less an ambassador; but she studied him anyway, fascinated. She was not alone; her second and oft substitute at the operations terminal, Esara Trewla, was bewildered that Admiral Uhura of Starfleet Intelligence, who had been her case study in first year history classes, had ever been so young; while Ensign Otek on the tertiary temporal monitoring station in the bowels of the _Eternity_ watched the entire exchange via holographic intercoms, riveted because the nineteenth Starfleet Commander in Chief of POR-A-012-M-005 had once been a lowly ensign plotting course corrections for his livelihood.

"Commander Spock is correct, Captain Kirk," Rongchareon stood, "If you'll allow, I'd like to offer my assistance in returning you to the correct time and place to which your crew belongs."

There was an inaudible exchange between every member of the senior _Enterprise_ crew.

" _Okay_ ," Captain Kirk blinked, confounded. "While I appreciate the offer, you understand that if I don't trust you or anything you say, it's not personal."

She grinned widely, "I understand perfectly, Captain. But shouldn't the fact we haven't fire weapons or raised shields be enough to show that at least we're not hostile?"

"That remains debatable," Commander Spock refuted, "Your ship's outward signage aside, we cannot verify your ship registry, and your advanced technology eclipses our sensor capabilities. According to our latest readings, your ship materials cannot be identified, and the closest match deemed plausible is that the construction is entirely organic."

"Then perhaps you will consider a leap of faith, Commander, that we are what we claim to be," the First Officer of the _Eternity_ stepped closer, clapping all twelve eyes eagerly upon Spock of Vulcan. If she were Human, she would dare to say that her eyes grew misty with nostalgia. Oh how bittersweet to see him once more, so many years later; her sixth incarnation had adored him so.

The commander stared at the Hamalki, silenced by the reference she had made. No one knew the conversation outside of Uhura, whom he knew would not break his confidence. How did she know? But of course, he knew – if one believed that she had indeed come back in time then her past was his future.

"Allow me to explain and give my credentials in person," Captain Rongcharoen offered, sensing an impasse.

Captain Kirk had no sooner gestured his reluctant acceptance and closed the channel, before she touched the neural node attached to her temple and projected herself onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_ along with her First Officer, startling everyone and making the young captain jump up from his chair and back away, almost tripping over.

"MY GOD," a man in 23rd century Science-blue exclaimed, edging closer to examine her, "How are you doing that! I know you guys aren't really there, cos I saw that flicker, but you're _so real_!"

Smiling at the reaction, the time traveler offered a hand in greeting, "Doctor McCoy, what an honor and privilege, sir."

Looking rather dumbfound, the doctor who would author the seminal texts of Starfleet Medical for a century in every universe where he chose to study medicine reached out with great trepidation and shook her hand. It felt like a normal flesh and blood hand, he thought to himself, flabbergasted – soft, warm, and a little dry.

" _Well_ , be still my heart," he exhaled after it was over, and true to tales, promptly whipped out his medical tricorder and started scanning the new arrivals.

Having been told to expect this, she bore it gracefully and turned to face the captain.

The edge of Jim Kirk's mouth twitched and she knew it had been the right decision to show off a little.

"Captain Kirk, on behalf of the Federation, it's an honor to be here – I've come at the behest of the Department of Temporal Investigations. Here are your new orders, courtesy of the Archer Division," She handed him the positively ancient (from her point of view) handheld containing the orders and necessary security codes to prove that it wasn't a fake.

Kirk took it delicately and looked it over before gesturing to the turbolift. "Why don't we step into the conference room?"

"Of course," she smiled.

* * *

_USS Quaver, tracking subject USS Enterprise, the Old Neutral Zone, year 2247_

Special Agent V'Kess drummed her claws nervously on her monitoring console as she watched the two ships facing one another, riveted as the truth behind a mystery that had been on her mind since she first graduated from the Temporal Affair's general office pool became clear. It had been an unexpected boon to be granted such an important mission so soon after being made an agent, but now she was certain that they'd made a grave mistake in picking her and her partner; dealing with the past was one thing, but dealing with future agents in the past?

The advanced vessel was obviously a temporal ship, giving off the familiar sensor readings of all ships with temporal drives plus a few strange oddities. V'Kess put them out of mind though, because she knew the regulations; the ship was from the future, and none of their business. But what was it going to do? Their information heading into this mission was that the _Enterprise_ from the alternate (original?) timeline had been noted as heading towards the Old Neutral Zone, and then no more. Was this ship, this _USS Eternity_ , going to destroy them? Surely not, V'Kess thought.

Suddenly, her partner Jackson jumped to his feet, almost knocking her head with his elbow. "They've activated their temporal drive!"

Just barely managing to save the veneer of her console from her automatic urge to scratch in distress, V'Kess quickly flicked through the telemetry to confirm her partner's observations. The _USS Eternity_ was leaving – and they were towing the _USS Enterprise_ with them!

"They're gone! Initiating pursuit!" Jackson exclaimed, blue eyes blazing in excitement. He deflated a moment later when the ship's computer advised him that a pursuit course couldn't be laid in, due to inconsistent time coordinates.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," She hissed, "There was a brief temporal window but –!"

But it hadn't been right. The dedicated sensors for sniffing out temporal fluctuations had been confused, flashing between stardates 2266.01 and 2245.03.17 and everything in between. V'Kess had never seen such a reaction from the sensors before in any of her previous missions, nor read about something like this in any of the missions reports she'd been given access to as a Special Agent. The only possibility she could think of _was..._ It seemed too ridiculous to consider for every recorded instance so far had been accidental but perhaps in the future, the Temporal Continuance Commission would achieve it: controlled travel between parallel universes.

Keeping her thoughts to herself as Jackson cursed and slumped back in his seat dejected, V'Kess stared at the spot where the two ships had been a moment ago, and allowed herself to imagine.

* * *

_Location unknown: USS Enterprise, year 2266_

The _USS Enterprise_ arrived back in her supposed universe approximately five years after her disappearance, though barely a year had passed for her crew. There had been scepticism, followed by disappointment as the stardate was announced, which then morphed into desperate hope as further telemetry came in. Then Lieutenant Uhura managed to get access to the Starfleet News Network, and confirmed that up till the moment they had left for their mission, their ship records matched the network records.

Everyone around the ship cheered as news of their MIA was found within the archives, though really, being declared 'dead' shouldn't be something to sing about. They were back, it was real. And the universe hadn't ended without them.

"Mister Chekov."

The Russian swiveled in his seat.

"Aye, Keptain?"

"Lay in a course for HQ."

Chekov grinned, "Already laid in, sir."

Jim returned the grin. He expected as much. "Thank you, Mister Chekov."

He glanced over his shoulder at Spock. The Vulcan was seated at his usual post by the science station. He was lovely and Jim felt a thrill travel through him knowing that when they went off-duty in approximately five minutes, he was going to kiss this gorgeous creature. "All systems go, Mister Spock?"

" _Go_ , sir?" asked Spock, his brows furrowing. "Is go not a verb?"

McCoy huffed with annoyance, but everyone could tell it was soft at the edges. "It's ancient terminology from the early days of manned flight. It means operative."

Spock arched an eyebrow, his dark eyes gleaming with gentle mirth. "In that case," he said, "all systems are indeed _go_."

Jim hid a laugh and shared a look with Uhura. The communications officer grinned back. It had taken him a while to know when Spock was truly perplexed by Human behavior and when he was only being a smartass.

"Mister Sulu?"

"Aye, sir." The helmsman grinned, awaiting orders with eagerness more suitable on a cadet.

"Take us out."

_Take us home._

Far across the universes, James Kirk, nearly fourteen years of age, looked up at the night sky of his new home as a young Spock pointed out the speck of light that was Sol, his native sun.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read my fic and enjoyed it, whether you left a comment or not. I know for those who read from the beginning - I don't expect for there to be many of you - thank you for continuing to have an interest and following my progress when I know that many people drift in and out of fandoms as casual readers, or leave fandoms completely after a time. I have been very ill for the last 6 years, starting from when I began writing this fic while waiting for brain surgery, and all the years in between where I'd write a chapter or several and then stop for 18 months and then do another two chapters and so on. Thank you for your patience. Knowing that though my health is frail and my body continues to frustrate me, that I can still create something, it's very meaningful to know it's being read and enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Thank you so much to all the beta readers - karmicfic, Sharmaine, newaunty, and others, you know who you are. I'll make appropriate thanks and detailed contribution notes soon.


End file.
